Jekyll and Hyde
by mellowenglishgal
Summary: "That's my sister Mary. She was really happy in San Francisco. After her accident, she made some new friends. 'Til we moved. I'm kind of worried about her…it's not like her to be uncaring." Allison's older-sister Mary is a werewolf. She's kept it secret, and becomes a secret weapon against the Kanima. As part of Derek's pack, she's the fierce mama-wolf.
1. Mary, Mary, Quite Contrary

**A.N.**: If anyone's watched _The Secret Circle_, the character of Mary was inspired by Faye Chamberlain's personality, to an extent. The polished, dark attitude to cover a multitude of heartaches, the best defence a bitchy, uncaring offence. Also, Gemma from _Sons of Anarchy_ is a big inspiration sometimes, the way Mary interacts with Derek and the others in his pack.

Since TW S3 hasn't started yet, I'm just going to come out and say, I wish Garrett Hedlund had a twin-brother so that they could play Aiden and Ethan, the twin-Alphas. Some of the back-story for Mary gives her history with them.

**Summary**: That's my sister Mary. She hates our parents for making us move here. She was really happy in San Francisco…after her accident, she made some new friends. A few weeks before we moved, something changed again. I'm kind of worried about her…it's not like her to be uncaring.

* * *

**Jekyll and Hyde**

_01_

_Mary, Mary, Quite Contrary_

* * *

Studying with Allison. Scott couldn't think of any idea more terrifying—except if he was to add a poisoned werewolf hell-bent on ripping his best-friend's throat out if Scott didn't find some magic bullet to cure him. A magic bullet that just happened to be hidden in the Argent household. The home of werewolf-hunters, one of whom had already _shot_ Scott with a crossbow, he thought, as he tentatively stepped over the threshold.

"So…d'you want a tour?" Allison smiled, her styled curls bouncing as she danced toward the back of the house. "C'mon, I'll get some snacks. Lots of carbs, right? I heard athletes need all the carbohydrates they can to build up energy."

"Uh…whatever you have is great," Scott said.

"'Kay, but, just to warn you, my family aren't really the type to bake cookies," Allison said, with a bright smile, as Scott followed her to a wide, open kitchen.

"What do your parents do?" Scott asked.

"Well, my mom was a teacher at an all-boys' school for ages," Allison said. "Before I was born. Now she's the overseas consultant for my dad's company."

"An overseas consultant?"

"Yeah, she travels a lot. I guess I should explain," Allison said, drawing a large glass pitcher out of the enormous refrigerator, pouring two glasses of iced tea. "My dad sells guns to law-enforcement." Scott stared at her. Allison half-laughed as she pushed the glass of tea toward Scott.

"Whoa," was all he could think to say. He frowned. "Is that why you move around a lot?"

"Yeah," Allison sighed. "I mean, I don't get why we have to, I'm sure my parents could've run the business from back East."

"Is that where you're from?"

"Well, I was born in Montana," Allison said. "We've moved at least twice every year since I was born, my parents moved a lot even before."

"Jeez," Scott said, gazing at her.

"What about you?"

"Oh, I've…never been anywhere," Scott said sadly. "I've never even been out of California."

"You're lucky," Allison beamed. "I'd _kill_ to have lived in just one place my whole life… The friendship you have with Stiles, knowing everybody in your classes…"

"But, I mean…you must've been to some amazing places," Scott pointed out.

"Yeah," Allison nodded. "But it drags after a while. Comes a point where you wanna put down roots, you know? So…are you a _Doritos_ man or do you prefer _Cheetos_?"

"Either," Scott smiled. "Whichever you don't mind sharing."

"_Doritos_ it is," Allison smiled sweetly. "Come on, I'll give you the tour… So, this is the kitchen…" She showed Scott around the house; he kept an eye out without trying to be unsubtle, for any sign of a place where someone would hide magic bullets that could kill a werewolf within forty-eight hours. The Argents' house was _huge_; Scott bet he could fit his own house inside it easily with room to budge. They peeked into Allison's parents' bedroom, but everything was sparse, despite the rich wallpaper, the polished furniture and lamps, it was… "My mom is minimalist," Allison explained. "We move so much, she doesn't tend to accumulate much clutter."

"How does that work for you?" Scott asked curiously.

"Well, my parents try and compensate for all the moves by giving me anything I ask for," Allison said, with a tight smile. "So I have a lot of stuff."

"Whose room is this?" Scott asked, as Allison ushered him into another bedroom. Dusky purple walls greeted him, the tangy scent of fresh paint lingering, mixing with the subtle scents of cosmetics and a rich rose perfume, candles scented with fig and rosemary; he could even smell the paints used in the numerous, staggeringly beautiful, complex and _warped_ pieces of artwork propped against the walls. The large bed was draped in dark sheets, decadent midnight-navy, a hint of blood-red crimson, deep purple, and a shelf on one wall featured an array of jars, each containing trinkets and tiny photographs. The shelf also featured a large plastic T-Rex that doubled as a jewellery-holder, draped in dainty gold necklaces, a large, battered black box covered in decoupage and colourful puff-paint with a tiny gold clasp, a rectangular bottle of rose-red perfume and a single, plainly-framed photograph. On the shelf below, there was a collection of hardback books, cloth-bound and beautifully colourful, Scott could see they were Penguin books, and they bore the titles of the Classics.

A decadent, polished dressing-table, very old, was what drew the most attention, topped with a very large mirror, the top covered with beauty products, composition-notebooks stacked, a jar containing paint-brushes and Micron pens, cosmetics arranged neatly, and beside the dressing-table on the wall, three photographs had been transferred onto small canvases; a few novels were piled up against the side of the dressing-table. Scott caught a few of the titles: _White Fang_, _Relic_, _Madame_ _Bovary_, _Stardust_, _The Master and Margarita_, _Ask the Dust_, _Everything is Illuminated_, _Gravity's Rainbow_, _Vellum_, _Less Than Zero_, _The Book of all Hours_, _The Code of the Woosters_, and on the top of the pile, _East of Eden_ by John Steinbeck. A dream-catcher, full of dainty beads and texture from crochet, lace and soft feathers, tiny shells, silk flowers, braided hemp and ribbon, dangled in the corner above a squashy chair draped in a single blanket, with a small cushion and an artist's board leaning against the leg of the chair. At the end of the large bed, a leather weekender-bag sat, and in one corner of the room by a laundry-hamper, several pairs of shoes with killer heels that could easily maim someone had been tossed aside.

The whole feel he got from the room was edgier, more mature, _darker_ than Allison. The art on the walls made the fine hairs at the back of his neck prick up, unnerved, and he dared not stare at any particular painting too long or be sucked in, drawn by the emotions the unfamiliar yet staggeringly personal scenes the paintings evoked.

Whoever lived in this room already seemed older, much more _warped_ than Allison. He didn't know how he could tell that, just from the way a bedroom was decorated, but it was telling that, just a month after Allison's family had moved in, this room had been put together as if he had been this way for years. Someone knew how to handle the routine of moving around so much, by unpacking and settling down as quickly and fully as possible.

"What are you doing?" A voice spoke up from behind him, and Scott jumped; he hadn't heard anyone move, hadn't even sensed the girl's approach, and he doubted Allison had either, because she jumped.

An incredibly beautiful young woman with a striking heart-shaped face, high cheekbones, lovely hazel eyes and dramatic, highly-expressive eyebrows gave Scott an imperious look as she strode past them into the bedroom, taller than Scott by several inches. She had dark hair, though hers was lighter than Allison's and fell just past her shoulders in natural waves that shone beautifully, slightly mussed from the day's passing, as she dumped a mini black _Dakine_ bag on the deep-purple comforter, stripping off a lace-sleeved black cardigan. Like Allison, she had the striking contrast of dark hair and fair skin, and despite the strength in the other girl's incredibly long legs, her visible cleavage where Allison was completely slender, her height, Scott could see the resemblance between the two girls.

"Uh…this is Scott," Allison said, biting her lip, glancing at Scott with an unreadable expression, and Scott's eyebrows rose and he flushed as the girl stared at him, right in the eyes. She had a staggeringly beautiful face. It was hard to look away from her. And she was regarding him with a slight tilt to her chin, as if she didn't quite know what to make of him yet. As she turned and pulled off a heather-green top, revealing the interesting T-bar lace back of her black bra, Scott glanced away, but not before he scented her on the air. It was a scent similar to the one he picked up from Derek…only different, somehow more feminine, and altered due to her rich rose perfume. But it was irrefutable. Allison cleared her throat. "Um…are you…what're you doing?"

"I'm out tonight, don't expect me back till late," the girl said carelessly, as she strode to her dresser, tugging open the two topmost drawers.

"You're not doing anything dangerous, are you?" Allison asked worriedly, and the other girl chuckled so low under her breath only Scott heard it as she tugged out something black; in a flick of wrist, she had her bra tumbling onto the bed, and with her back turned she tugged on a tight black sports-bra, fiddling with the clasp at the back.

"Nothing you need to worry about," she said, with a secretive, highly seductive smile at Allison over her shoulder as she took off her jewellery and placed it either on the plastic T-Rex or in the battered black box on the shelf.

"I thought you might be staying home tonight," Allison said hopefully, her cheeks a little flushed at the girl's blatant disregard for company while getting dressed, as she stripped out of a pair of tight dark jeans, revealing a hint of tiny black lace underwear, not quite a thong but not panties either, before tugging on a little pair of black running-shorts.

"Why's that?" the girl asked unconcernedly, glancing at Allison as she deftly plaited her hair away from her face, tying it in place with a thin black elastic.

"It's just…Aunt Kate's here," Allison said hesitantly. The girl stilled for a second as she reached to put the delicate gold dangle-earrings she wore into the box on the shelf, and in the mirror Scott saw her expression; wariness, anger. And her eyes glowed the same vivid electric-blue that Derek's had earlier today.

His stomach cramped. _She's…_

"So?"

"So…I don't know, it might be nice to have dinner together."

"Like we're a happy family?" The girl smirked, and it was an almost _vicious_ smile that reeked of irony, a curl of her lip that was almost predatory; Allison's expression faltered, and the girl tossed her finished braid over her shoulder.

Gazing straight-on, she was very tall, with a beautiful figure, a trim waist, strong, toned and incredibly long legs, and those expressive eyebrows quirked as her smirk broadened to a smile. Scott noticed the tiny glint of a little plain silver bar at her navel. She also revealed numerous ear-piercings, those in her ear-lobes decorated with tiny ruby-red studs, the triple pinna piercings to her right ear decorated with tiny little diamonds, the single pinna piercing in her left ear with a _tiny_ gold hoop, the tragus piercing with a tiny diamond, and a tiny opal to the second lobe piercing. She also had a tattoo on her right forearm, but Scott couldn't make it out. "I think I'll pass on the Hallmark reunion. Who's this?"

"Uh…this is Scott," Allison smiled, and Scott shook himself internally, forcing himself to focus, and to smile uneasily. She was a…here?…in this house? With her _father_ who had _shot_ Scott? "We're study-partners."

"Uh-huh," Allison's sister replied, with a too-knowing smirk that really seemed to lift her stunning features. Her intense hazel eyes sparkled with mischief. She stood, facing them, her elbows bent, hands on her very little waist. She was _very_ toned, her skin a warm, healthy light-gold. And, something about her posture, the bent elbows, the slight tilt of her chin, the sparkle in her eyes, Scott knew instantly…she wasn't a threat, at least not at the moment. She was smiling, teasing, despite the edginess coming off Allison, a little uncomfortable around this other girl, unsure how to act. "Natural selection?"

"Chemistry," Allison blushed softly.

"Biology tends to follow," the other girl said, her cheekbones pronounced as she smirked indulgently. Scott found _himself_ blushing now. He knew Stiles had given him a hard time about not taking advantage of the situation to cop a feel, but here this girl was assuming they were going to…well, follow the natural spark that had set off between Scott and Allison the first time he had seen her, with the natural next-step—the driving urge to procreate and further the species.

To get a little frisky.

"Scott," the other girl nodded, and as she stalked past, Scott tensed, his heightened senses screaming, and inhaling subtly, he felt his canines strengthen, sharpen. How he knew, he didn't understand, but when she had disappeared into the hall, after giving him another irreverent, imperious look, he confirmed what he had earlier guessed…_She's a werewolf too_.

But how was that possible? Derek said the Argents were werewolf-hunters… Scott had been _shot_ by Mr Argent.

Scott tampered his senses, uncertain what to do or say, left in the girl's wake. Her beautiful face, the trimness of her waist, the toned look of her long, lightly-tanned legs, her irreverence, the anger he had felt coming off her when Allison had mentioned her Aunt Kate, it all stuck in his mind. And he noticed how Allison had responded to the other girl's blasé attitude; she looked upset, licking her lips, and turned to the hall, guiding Scott silently to her own bedroom while he heard the front-door open and close, a soft, throaty chuckle, and footsteps padding off lightly.

For some reason, the other girl was confident, unconcerned about modesty, playful and teasing, but Allison didn't know how to act around her. There was a distance between them, Scott thought. They lived under the same roof but Allison didn't know how to behave around her. Wasn't _afraid_ of her, but wasn't particularly close with her either.

Allison's bedroom was a stark contrast to the other girl's; there were cardboard-boxes everywhere, paint swatches on the wall with wallpaper samples, a poster tacked up.

"Uh…so…who was that?" he asked, frowning, because he thought he might have seen her before.

"That was Mary," Allison smiled sadly. "My older-sister."

Scott's eyes widened, a little surprised. "I didn't even know you had a sister. Does she go to Beacon Hills High?"

"She's a senior," Allison nodded, with her sweet smile. She sighed, bouncing on her mattress. "But not by choice."

"How's that?"

"We move around a lot in our family," Allison said, with a sad smile. "But she managed to never get held back at school, until this past year. She should've graduated in June. A year ago, about four months after we moved to San Francisco…she was in this horrific car-accident. Afterward, she ran away from home for like a month. She was just really messed up for a long time."

"She was in an accident?" Scott murmured.

"Yeah," Allison nodded, her styled curls bouncing as she sighed, her features softening as she grew sad. Her eyelashes fluttered as she gave Scott a sidelong glance. "She was the only one who survived. Her boyfriend was driving; her best-friend and her boyfriend were in the back."

"Was Mary okay?" Scott asked, his mind whirring. _She's a werewolf too… How is she a werewolf too, with Hunters for parents?_

"She had concussion," Allison said sadly, her eyes on the carpet, faraway. "I never asked what exactly happened to her friends, but my dad said not to. He said it was…pretty horrific… She was fully-conscious when the rescue-team arrived. They air-lifted her best-friend out, but she died during surgery."

"I'm sorry," Scott said honestly, glancing at Allison. He heard a lot of horror stories from his mom; being a nurse she saw them all when kids came in after crashing their cars, messing around now they had the freedom to get around town by their own steam, and forgetting not to drink when they went to parties.

Allison was quiet for a moment, her eyes glassy, and as with Mary's anger and teasing playfulness, he could sense Allison's sadness. He bumped her gently with his arm, and she gave him a watery smile. "After the accident…Mary was a mess. I mean, I guess…we were never really very close, you'd think we would be, as the only ones we've really had growing up, but Mary's always hated…well, our family. The way we're forced to exist, but never allowed to really _live_. But I guess she got better, when she started hanging out with some new friends," Allison shrugged. "She was _happy_. Mary was always the outgoing one." Scott frowned, remembering the first day he had met Allison, he had been watching her across the hallway while she tucked things into her locker, and Lydia Martin had strutted over.

"_That jacket is killer_," she said casually, twiddling her long 'strawberry-blonde' hair. "_Where's it from_?"

"_My sister worked in an amazing boutique in San Francisco_," Allison answered, blushing, pleased, at the compliment.

"_And you just became my best-friend_," Lydia smirked, as Jackson crept up to her, stealing a deep kiss.

"She's not anymore?"

"She's just…different," Allison sighed. "Growing up the way we did, always moving, I was the one who sat at home playing Apples-to-Apples with my parents; Mary…went out and grabbed life with both hands. Even if it pissed my parents off—I think she sometimes did it, especially last year, _just_ to piss them off."

"They don't get along?"

"Not lately," Allison sighed sadly. "I mean…Mary always hated the way our family moved around so much, we never had the chance to make lasting friendships, have boyfriends, even just put down roots for a _home_. But she was close with my dad when she was little, they're both kinda the same tough, warm personality." Scott smiled at the way Allison spoke about her dad, even if he had shot Scott with a crossbow. He could tell Allison really loved her father. Which sucked, as it reminded Scott of how little he even thought about his own since his mom had thrown him out. "But Mary's…rebellious. She's a lot tougher than I am, she's not afraid of upsetting our parents if it means she can actually have a life of her own."

"I think you're pretty tough, to always be able to walk into brand-new schools," Scott said honestly. The first-day jitters were bad enough for him to deal with; he couldn't imagine having to pack everything up and do it all over again, rebuild in town after town. "I don't think I've seen Mary at school, though," Scott said, frowning, scanning his memory. "She's _beautiful_."

"Yeah, Mary's got a face you _never_ forget," Allison beamed. Allison's face was much squarer, but she and Mary both shared dramatic cheekbones, and the dark hair-colour; Mary just seemed to embrace the California sunshine a little more. "I don't know… A few weeks before we moved here, she just…reverted."

"What do you mean?"

"It's like…after she was in the car-accident, just before she ran away, she was…catatonic. She was really in love with her boyfriend, she had a best-friend for the first time in her life…and then they were just _gone_. One slip of the steering-wheel after a freak shower, all dead." Allison's eyes were glazed as she glanced at Scott; he could tell how much it upset her just thinking about her sister's accident. Did she feel that way because she had come so close to losing her sister, or because she sympathised with Mary's pain? "And they had to tell her at the hospital that her friends were all dead… Just before she ran away, she and my parents got into this huge fight, it went on for _hours_; my mom said it was their own fault Mary's friends died, because they'd been drinking at a party. Dad always warned us against getting in cars with people who've been drinking, you know? But Mary knew her boyfriend hadn't had a drop, that the first rain for months had made the road slick unexpectedly, it was just…"

"An accident," Scott said softly, and Allison nodded, gazing miserably at her hands, clasped in her lap.

"We didn't know it, but Mary packed a bag that night and left," Allison said, glancing up at him. "When we woke up to get ready for the day, she'd been gone for hours."

"Where'd she go?" Scott asked, his voice sounding horrified and breathless even to himself. Her boyfriend, her best-friend and the best-friend's boyfriend, all dead in one horrific accident, Scott didn't know how he would ever survive something like that. The thought of losing _Stiles_…

"We don't know," Allison said, and a tiny smile fluttered on her lips as she shrugged her slender shoulders. "And I doubt she'll ever tell us. Mary is a mystery." Scott smiled, chuckling softly.

"But she came back," he said, slowly twisting on Allison's desk-chair.

"Yeah, after about a month," Allison sighed. "When she came home, she was…different. Not exactly her old self…_better_. She was _amazing_." A small smile curled at the corners of Allison's lips. Scott wondered what Allison's measurement of 'amazing' was. "I mean, she's spent almost twenty years perfecting ways to evade our parents; if Mary doesn't want us to know something, we don't know about it. She's perfected secret-keeping down to an art-form. She could be a _007_ for all we know."

"That would be hot," Scott said thoughtfully, and Allison giggled softly.

"We got along better last year, more than we ever have."

"Why d'you think that is?"

"I don't know… Whatever the reason, I loved it. But she was hard to keep up with. And we only hung out once or twice every other week. I would always fall asleep to her climbing out the window. I'd go downstairs for breakfast, and she'd be there already in a new outfit, still high from the night before."

"She was a party-animal?" Scott smiled.

"I guess, but it was her attitude," Allison beamed. "Then…a few weeks before we moved here…it was like she'd been in the car-accident again. Only worse…she didn't cry this time. She just…she was catatonic. She still won't speak to our parents. She hates them for making us move here." Scott remembered how that fierce, ironic smirk had imprinted on him; he remembered feeling her anger, her…grief. Allison sighed. Her features grew thoughtful, troubled.

"She liked it in San Francisco?"

"She _loved_ it," Mary smiled. "I think of all the places we've lived, I've liked San Francisco one of the most. There was so much going on, we could get to so many places, there was always something to do, clubs and things we could join. We were there for about sixteen months, that's the longest we've ever lived anywhere. We built lives." Allison sighed heavily.

"And Beacon Hills isn't exactly San Francisco," Scott guessed. He knew Beacon Hills was a small town.

"Yeah…I'm sorry, I know you've lived here your whole life," Allison winced, but Scott smiled.

"It's okay. If you felt about San Francisco how I feel about Beacon Hills, I can understand how you and Mary feel about being ripped away from it," Scott said honestly, and Allison rewarded his thoughtful words with a bright smile.

But he couldn't help wonder…when had Mary Argent been bitten by an Alpha? Where was that Alpha now? And what had happened to her pack? How had she kept it from her parents that she was the very thing they hunted—did they even know? Did _she_ know what _they_ were? If she had spent all her life trying to get away from her parents, learning the best tricks to keep secrets from them, was it possible she had kept it a secret from her own family of werewolf-experts that she was one? He knew things changed with the Bite; he himself was a shining example, first-line on the Varsity lacrosse-team, a beautiful new girlfriend… Had Mary's personality changed due to her werewolf bite?

And what had happened to make her 'revert', as Allison had called it?

Yes, there were some worrisome facts about his existence as a newly-turned werewolf. He had a poisoned werewolf waiting for him to deliver some kind of magic bullet to him so he wouldn't die a horribly painful, strung-out death. But Stiles always took the bad with a pinch of salt and focused on the good. So he had to make things work with Allison despite her Hunter parents, and somehow figure out how Mary had managed to keep it from her family that she was a werewolf, so he could better keep the secret from his mom.

There was another teenage werewolf in Beacon Hills. And the first female one Scott had ever met. He wondered if Derek knew about her.

"That's why Mary's so pissed at our parents for making us move again," Allison sighed. "She's eighteen, and she's had a bunch of part-time jobs, after school, and during summers, you know…but she would've stayed in San Francisco. Our parents promised we'd graduate the same high-school was started. I don't think that Mary's really mad about the high-school thing; I think she's still angry that we had to move. When we were in San Francisco she was out every night, I guess she had a few jobs, too. She was happy, she had a lot of fun, I guess… But she doesn't seem to _care_, now. I'm kind of worried about her. She spends all her time out of the house, when she's here, it's to change clothes…she doesn't even eat here if she can get out of it…I'd say it's not like her, but this past year, that's exactly how she's been."

"Maybe she's just hit her limit," Scott murmured. He knew his mom had hit her limit when she threw his dad out of the house. "Maybe she's just had enough of all the moves, leaving those friends behind."

"I guess," Allison said softly. "It's just not like Mary to be uncaring."

"Have you told her you're worried?"

"She'll just laugh me off," Allison shrugged. "We were never really close… I don't know what happened to her…"

* * *

Scott couldn't stop grinning, even as he bore the magic bullet to Dr Deaton's veterinary clinic. The fact that Allison had stolen a _condom_ from her aunt's luggage, unknowingly concealing the fact he had stolen one of the poisonous 'aconite' bullets, was something he couldn't get off his mind. A condom! He had come so close to…well, if her horrifically intimidating dad and aunt hadn't returned home from wherever they'd been out hunting werewolves, who knows what might've happened.

He almost forgot that he had met Mary Argent.

The _blue_-eyed female werewolf who happened to be daughter to a werewolf-hunter, the irreverent, viciously-smiling older young-woman who had been missed at the dinner-table, leading to a slight argument between Allison and her parents over them breaking their promises not to move their family while the girls were in high-school, therefore giving Mary the justification to act out, as she had, apparently, ever since the car-accident in which her boyfriend, her best-friend and her boyfriend had all died.

Allison had told Scott that her aunt moved around a lot, like they did, that she hadn't seen her in over a year and that Kate Argent used to live in Beacon Hills. She didn't know why her aunt was here, but then she didn't go out in the middle of the night hunting down werewolves, so she wouldn't have seen her aunt wield an assault-rifle against Derek.

Scott had only seen Allison's werewolf sister Mary for a brief moment, just long enough to scent the fact that she _was_ a werewolf, and to see that her eyes had flashed electric-blue at hearing her aunt was in town. Scott's eyes turned amber; but Derek's turned blue. The Alpha's had been red the night Scott refused to kill the bus-driver. Why did Derek's and Mary Argent's eyes flash blue, while his turned amber?

From her reaction to hearing her aunt Kate was in town, Mary _had_ to know her family were werewolf-hunters. Did she know about the Alpha in Beacon Hills? That Derek was trying to take Scott under his wing to guide him through becoming a Beta? That they were trying to find the Alpha that had killed Derek's sister, Laura, the previous Alpha?

Scott didn't understand this new werewolf world he'd been thrown into. He didn't even know werewolves had different eye-colour; or that they were deathly allergic to aconite; or that there were Hunters who liked nothing more than putting _arrows_ and _bullets_ into people like him.

And he was dating one's daughter.

Again, as he pedalled madly to Dr Deaton's office, Scott thought about Mary Argent. The older, stunning but indifferent _female werewolf_. The first Scott had ever met. And the daughter of werewolf-hunters.

He scented the air as he threw himself off his bike, glad Stiles had left the back-door unlocked; he could scent sweat and pheromones on the air, someone's panic and hesitancy, Derek's pain. The other animals in the back started acting out as they sensed him—and he could hear voices, Stiles', "_Alright, here we go_!"

"Stiles!" he called, careening into the surgical theatre. He did a double-take, jaw dropping; Stiles held a small electrical bone-saw to Derek's enormous bicep, paused as if waiting to pull the trigger and start sawing.

"Scott?" Stiles' pale face brightened subtly, hope and relief spreading across his features.

"What the hell are you doing?!" Scott blurted, and Scott gave him a watery smile as he set the saw down.

"Oh, you just prevented a lifetime of nightmares!" he said, looking weak-kneed as he clung to the edge of the metal table.

"Did you get it?" Derek grunted, himself looking unsteady on his feet, paler even than usual, his exposed skin covered in a fine sheen of cold sweat. Scott dug into the pocket of his jeans and passed the round to Derek, who held it in front of unfocused grey eyes as he swayed unsteadily, panting.

"What're you gonna do with it?" Stiles asked.

"I'm gonna… I'm gonna…" Derek dropped; the bullet chinked and tinkled and rolled to the—the drain beneath one of the side-cabinets.

"No! No, no, no, no!" Scott blurted, diving for the bullet as Stiles knelt over Derek, pale face concerned. As Stiles slapped Derek's face, trying to rouse him, Scott threw himself down on the floor, trying to reach his fingers to the bullet he could just glimpse, flashing in the light, just out of reach.

"Derek! Derek, come on, wake up!" Stiles blurted, as Scott frowned and gritted his teeth and tried to reach. "Scott, what the hell're we gonna do?"

"I don't know!" Scott half-shouted, fidgeting and trying to reach the bullet. "I can't reach it."

"He's not waking up! I think he's dying… I think he's dead!" Stiles shouted, utterly panicked.

"Just hold on!" Scott panted, and an idea came to him, he calmed himself down, thinking, he needed that bullet. He needed to reach that bullet. He felt the claws of his thumb and forefinger extending, and he carefully reached for both ends of the bullet. Carefully, so carefully, he lifted his fingers, and the bullet lodged between his claws, out from the drain, delight and surprise filling him as he pulled the bullet out, cradling it carefully in his palm as he jumped to his feet.

"I got it!" he grinned. "I got it!"

"Please don't kill me for this!" Stiles prayed, before punching a prone Derek in the face. "Ow! _God_!" As Stiles swore, shaking his hurt hand, Derek was shocked into consciousness and they quickly hoisted him off the floor.

"Give me that," he murmured, eyes hazy but already reaching toward him for the bullet. Scott handed it over, ready to go diving for it again as Derek leaned against the table, panting, and bit the end off the bullet, tapping out the contents, a powdered blue substance that he set a light to with a lighter Stiles kept in the glove-compartment of his _Jeep_ for emergencies. With a pant, Derek blew on the sparking powder, extinguishing the flame, and, still panting, swaying on his feet, he swept the powder into his palm, took a deep breath, seemed to steel himself into doing something, and pressed the palm full of burned aconite onto the bullet-wound spreading a black infection up and down his arm. As he pressed the powder _into_ the wound, he roared in pain, falling onto the floor with another, more bestial roar, writhing in pain on the floor. Scott watched, shocked and almost nauseated, as the wound itself…disappeared. The black infection, the bullet-wound, it all just disappeared in a tiny wisp of bluish smoke.

"That…was…_awesome_!" Stiles declared. "Yes!"

"Are you okay?" Scott asked dubiously, eyeing Derek, as he climbed off the floor, already going for the elastic blue tourniquet he had borrowed from Dr Deaton's medical supplies.

"Except for the agonising _pain_?" Derek snapped back, glaring at him.

"Guessing the ability to use sarcasm is a good sign of health," Stiles remarked tartly. Derek glowered at him.

"Okay, we saved your life—" Scott blurted, on edge and a little stunned by what he'd just seen. "—which means you're gonna leave us alone! You got that? And if you don't, I'm gonna go back to Allison's, maybe her sister can teach me—"

"You're gonna trust _them_?"

"Her sister Mary is a werewolf."

"What?" Stiles blurted a laugh.

"That's not possible," Derek scowled. He stared at Scott, luminous grey eyes searching his face for a tell to let him know Scott was lying. Scott stared back at Derek. He hadn't known about Mary Argent.

"You didn't know about her? I was just at the Argent house, I met Allison's older-sister Mary," Scott explained, a little bemused, staring wide-eyed at Derek. "I don't know how I knew it, but the second I picked up her scent I knew she was a werewolf."

Derek stared back at him, as if Scott had just told him something…completely unbelievable.

"How can the Argents have a daughter who's a werewolf?" he murmured.

"How could you have not told me that Allison has an older-sister who's a female-_freaking_-werewolf?" Stiles gaped at Scott, appalled and apparently delighted.

"Do the Argents know?" Derek demanded. "And are you _sure_?"

"I don't think so," Scott shrugged. "Allison doesn't know anything about her family being Hunters, she just thinks her dad sells firearms to the cops. She says her sister was in some car-accident a year ago, and she ran away a few weeks after that. And a few weeks before her family moved _here_, Mary became really depressed and withdrawn. And when Allison mentioned to her sister that their aunt Kate is here in Beacon Hills, I saw Mary's eyes flash bright blue in the mirror, just like yours do."

Derek's eyebrows flew, his eyes sharpening, the cogs whirring in his brain, and Scott wondered again what it meant, that Mary Argent's eyes had shone blue.

He sighed softly. "Allison says her sister's spent her whole life trying to get away from their parents; after this car-accident she was in a year ago, she ran away for over a month just after it happened; they still don't know what she got up to."

"She probably went searching for her pack," Derek said softly, his eyes shining brightly. He glanced up at Scott. "You're sure none of the Argents realise what she is?"

"I guess not, I mean, I don't know, I only met her while she was getting undressed—"

"Whoa, hold on there a second—you met her while she was getting _undressed_?"

"She looked like she was heading out, sports-bra, running-shorts," Scott shrugged.

"How'd she look?"

"Toned. And _curvy_. Trust me, when you've seen her, you won't forget her. Her legs are incredible," Scott remarked, with a subtle smile, and a shrug. "Black lace panties."

"You saw her—"

"Stiles!" Derek barked, and he jumped; they both turned wide eyes onto Derek. "If she's a werewolf, she has been for a while, especially if she can pull the wool over her parents' eyes, and she'll know exactly what you are."

"So, what does that mean?"

Derek sighed heavily. "I don't know. And I don't like that I don't know."

"Didn't you know another werewolf was in town?"

"It's not like we meet at _Starbucks _every Sunday morning for coffee," Derek remarked tartly. "Okay, our lifestyles are private, they have to be. Packs form and they stick together, in defined territories, with clear hierarchies. If she's alone, she's an Omega."

"What does that mean?"

"Either she never found her pack and she learned to control herself on a full-moon, alone, or she was part of a pack but she's been kicked out," Derek said quietly, heaviness lacing his tone. "Chances are if she's still living with her parents, she might've had no choice in leaving her pack."

"Allison said just before her family moved, her sister changed again, like, to how she was after the accident," Scott remembered. "She called her 'catatonic'. I could… I could sense her grief."

"She might've been part of a pack that's been wiped out. With parents who're Hunters, it's possible that's the case," Derek sighed, and he looked troubled. He scrunched up his face tiredly, traipsing over to the sink to wash his face before drying it off, pulling his t-shirt on. "There's also something it would be incredibly dangerous for the both of us not to consider."

"What?"

"That her parents know she's a werewolf and are using her to infiltrate and destroy packs," Derek said heavily. Scott stared at him, frowning, trying to picture the girl he'd just met, for a brief few minutes, working her way into a pack only to see them shot up and cut in half by her parents.

"I don't know," he said softly. "Allison said Mary doesn't talk to their parents, barely talks to Allison. They don't know what she's been up to the last year, she's been…rebellious."

"I am liking this girl the more you tell me about her," Stiles sighed, half-grinning.

"We need to find out what's going on with her," Derek said sternly.

"How?"

"I'll head over to her house," Derek said, and Scott's eyes widened. "If I can catch her scent, I can track her."

"Panty-raid?" Stiles quipped.

* * *

**A.N.**: Please review.


	2. Get Your Motor Running

**A.N.**: I know! Shocking, isn't it! An update!

Anyone else bugged by the way werewolves' eyes cause lens-flare in photographs? I'd like to correct that—that werewolves can do it, but they have to focus, and it's mostly for things like when Derek had his mug-shot taken. I'd like for werewolves to be able to document their better memories.

And why do we never learn anything about Derek and Laura's pack, prior to them coming to Beacon Hills? Because seriously, after the importance of a _trio_ of Betas in Derek's own pack, for strength and power, who were the other two Betas in Laura Hale's pack? Where are they? Or was it just Laura and Derek, trying to get by?

Anyone else agree with me that perhaps a werewolf's eyes change from amber to blue when they've killed? Because neither Scott nor any of Derek's Betas have killed, but Peter and Jackson have…

Oh, and I _CHANGED Chapter One_, so re-read it.

* * *

**Jekyll and Hyde**

_02_

_Get Your Motor Running…_

* * *

Muscles searing with burning pain, her lungs splintering as she sucked cold air into them, blood rushing past her ears, sweat warming her body even as the breeze kept her cool, the chaff of her black sports-bra against her sweat-slicked skin, every footfall vibrating powerfully through her body as she raced through the woods, scenting the warm, rich earth, the decaying undergrowth, the pollen of wildflowers, the rocks wet with water from gurgling streams, the clear air in the woods away from the suburbs, it was _heaven_. To run here amongst the moss and trees teeming with life was dizzying. The silver moon caressed her where its light dappled through the tree-canopy, she splashed through a rippling stream to feel its warmth unhindered, vaulting over a fallen log, kicking up dirt as she followed her nose, exploring as she had every night since they had arrived in Beacon Hills. This was bliss, to _run_, to feel the moon's warmth on her face in a way no other creature could appreciate. It was…ecstatic, pure pleasure, to _run_; to know she could push herself for hours, keeping her werewolf traits tethered, unleashing them at will because her heartbeat, what prompted the transition, was tested, pushed to its limits by her rigorous training regimes… She ran for control, over herself, and to get away from the place she felt completely and utterly powerless. She ran to exorcise her uncontrollable _lust_…

As a werewolf, everything was magnified. When she hurt, she _really_ hurt. When she loved, she could feel her heart expanding too big for her chest… When she needed boy, nothing _but_ boy would do—the rougher, more selfish and more aggressive, the better, since she couldn't find another werewolf in Beacon Hills, to match her strength and aggression. And _endurance_! If she had no boy but was unendurably turned on, she could take the edge off by herself, hand in her panties, but not as she wanted to, in her parents' house, and to truly tamp it down, she had to _run_. Some days in the past few weeks, she had run a hundred miles in a night, pushing herself to the brink of complete and utter exhaustion.

To go from numerous burning-hot fucks daily, her male always knowing (just as every other werewolf male did) when she was _in heat_, making sure she never endured the pain of unsatisfied lust, to entering the barren wasteland that was Beacon Hills, Mary had had to improvise. There were plenty of strong, nubile boys in town (even a few men)…if she saw someone she liked and was in the right, i.e. unbearably horny, mood, she would sample. Tonight, though it had become her M.O., she couldn't face another impersonal coupling, couldn't endure the disconnect and emotional hollowness that came after meaningless physical intimacy, having sex for the sole purpose of getting off. To release the tension, the feeling of being powerless, frustration over her lot, and to momentarily forget how broken she was.

She had gone home to change out of her school outfit, into her sports-bra and little shorts, plaited her hair, and as she ran, pushing herself to extremes, she couldn't help but laugh breathlessly at the irony, Allison's face flickering through her mind as she introduced the boy she had brought home.

That wasn't normal behaviour for Allison, who had sworn off boyfriends due to their constant moves. But oh, the irony, Allison falling for a little wolf! The poor kid had no idea what he was about to put himself through. To have to hide what he was, from the experts who had dedicated their lives to eradicating his—_her_—kind. Mary's mother and father would never imagine a teen-wolf would come sniffing around their younger daughter, but Mary couldn't help but be amused by the development. A cruel irony, perhaps, one of fate's humorous tricks to keep people humble—it would certainly horrify her parents if they ever found out, definitely bring out their worst side.

Mary had been hiding what she was from her parents—a deeply honourable father and a contrastingly psychotic mother who terrified the shit out of Mary, and always had—for so long that she had perfected it as an art-form. They had never gotten along, but the Mary they had known when she was a little girl had disappeared a long time ago, and they had never really discovered who the adolescent one had become. She hadn't let them, and it was on her that their relationships had been so poor before, but had she not felt the need for complete privacy where her life was concerned and, even more so, _secrecy_, from her _parents_, well…it wasn't her fault her parents were Hunters who would give her a free _hemicorporectomy_ in her sleep if they ever got wind that she was one of the monsters who went bump in the night.

But Pippin had once given her some very sage wisdom: "The closer you are to danger, the farther you are from harm. It's the last thing they'll expect."

It had worked so far. Well, Mary had never been around her parents long enough for them to suspect she was anything more than a rebellious teenager hell-bent on getting away from her parents to have a good time in the city, drinking too much, meeting strange boys, sneaking into clubs, possibly contracting an STD or two while she staggered around in too-high heels and too-short shorts, experimented with dramatic makeup, was frequently stoned or staving off a hangover by drinking more. Her friends, her _pack_, had been a joyous, exuberant gang of people all drawn together by the Bite, either wolves by heritage or accident—or a lifesaving choice, like Mary—a sprawling, larger-than-normal pack with its own sub-cliques; the career adults and parents, the teenagers and young-adults (who made up the majority and had their own territory in the city, threw the most hardcore parties and had the most fun) and the baby.

All gone, now.

Mary was alone.

An Omega.

After a year of escapism, using the bond with her pack-mates to get away from the rigid terror imposed on her by her domineering, she-dragon mother and build herself a safety-net of strong friendships, a _family_, and even a relationship that had helped her through the worst time in her life, she was suddenly, inextricably…alone. She had been driven out, abandoned by the people she had come to look upon as her family, with much stronger bonds with any of them than her own flesh and blood.

She now lived in complete, undiluted terror of discovery—of the threat of what would happen _if_ she was discovered. And she had no escape. For the first time in her life, Mary had had _friends_, deep friendships based on one single mutual circumstance, a bond she had believed was unbreakable. She had had a boy she loved, who helped her forget, and forgive herself, and _live_. Above all things, her pack had taught her how to, not just survive past tragedy, but _thrive_ in its aftermath.

They had taken all that away by pushing her out. For something that was out of her control completely.

Mary scowled, pushing her burning muscles harder, running faster, feeling the searing pain in her lungs that let her know she was pushing her limits. When she ran, pushing her body, her muscles burning, her lungs about to explode, her blood rushing to every part of her body, thundering in her ears, the confusion of the scents kicked up around her, the focus it took not to trip while her eyes scanned every tiny detail and almost got hooked every time, she stopped feeling the punishing, gnawing ache in her chest, the one that had grown daily since the pack had made their decision, engulfing her chest, her entire being.

She couldn't forget the ache was there, a permanent part of her like her tattoo and her retractable claws, but when she ran, she could stop feeling it. And that sweet reprieve was what she had striven for each night, as much as trying to work off the sexual frustration her male had sentenced her to by rejecting her.

It wasn't just that he had rejected her from a relationship. He, and the rest of the pack, had agreed amongst themselves to reject her from the _city_.

A year… A full year, Mary had become part of their family. Just like that, and with no real reason, she had been kicked out of it.

She was stuck with parents whom she lived in terror of, and a little sister who was too perfect in said parents' eyes for Mary to really like most of the time.

She kept running, revelling in the freedom, the release, and as the breeze shifted, the fine hairs at the back of her neck rose, her senses sharpened, every fibre of her being going on alert, rigid with tension as she took in the scent, and dodged, knowing whoever it was anticipated her to do so, ducked and took an aggressive stance, arms straight, fangs bared, a low growl sounding from deep within her chest as the werewolf who had been tracking her roared and tumbled over her, instead of knocking her down as they had intended. She had the advantage, her attacker disoriented by her abrupt change in stance.

She was in brand-new territory, hadn't until today picked up the scent of any werewolves in town, but she wasn't a submissive and never had been, wouldn't back down, and _would_ fight to protect herself and show her mettle to whoever dared attack her. She had been trained—and if someone threatened her, or her pack, Mary was ruthless.

In her pack they'd called her Bloody Mary for a reason.

Because if the right buttons were pushed, she could test even an Alpha in ferocity—considering she had been trained as a Hunter before receiving the Bite, her skill in combat had been one of the first things the pack had noticed during her training…when they finally got her to respond. Getting her ass royally handed to her every day had been some sort of physical penance to assuage the emotional turmoil she had endured for months after her accident.

But this was new territory, there was no pack here that she had yet discovered, if this was another Omega she had to protect herself to prove her strength, or kill the other werewolf for her own survival if they didn't back down.

As they settled, she instantly noted the other werewolf's stance—eyes blazing icy-blue, elbows bent, head ducked, not a submissive stance, but not an aggressive one either. In the canine world, the play-bow was a sign between two dogs, or wolves, that they were playing. That it wasn't aggressive, wasn't a threat. Her attacker didn't intend her harm, at least not yet, but with her aggressive stance, he knew _she_ wasn't messing around. She couldn't afford to.

Mary sighed, ran her tongue over her fangs, and straightened, dusting her hands and eyeing the male as he took stock of her in turn, slowly straightening, never making an aggressive movement. Panting for breath, her adrenaline doing its thing, her legs trembled after so much punishing exertion, and she took in his appearance. Very dark hair slightly mussed from a tumble in the woodland debris, and skin so starkly pale in contrast he made a stunning visual; combined with luminous grey eyes hard and guarded, and _very_ strong arms, he made a _very_ attractive visual.

"I didn't intend to attack you. I just want to talk," he said calmly, but with a steely edge Mary recognised from alpha-males she had known (not even in the werewolf world; there were some men who just had the authoritarian bite in their tone that made others aware of their elevated status). It was the kind of tone that chased away any thought he might be lying. And anyway, the impression she got from him was that he was more curious and wary of her than anything. As for herself, Mary was rife with tension; having stopped running, all of her heightened senses—her heightened lust, the desperation burning between her thighs, the hopeless yearning and betrayal mingled to make her tremble with the effort it took to try and suppress those feelings. She didn't know who this was, but he was no Alpha, and within hours of meeting Allison's boy-wolf Scott she was being accosted by another Beta?

"It figures there'd be an older werewolf in town just in case," she panted softly, wincing in discomfort as she shook her legs to ease the muscles jumping, bones about to break from such vicious exertion followed by a complete and unexpected standstill.

"Just in case what?"

She glanced up at the male. Those mercurial grey eyes were hypnotising in the moonlight. She canted her head to one side, thoughtfully, and said, "In case a migratory Alpha left a few turned victims behind and didn't bother to claim them."

"Migratory?" He scowled. Mary eyed him carefully.

"If the Alpha who bit Scott isn't in town, where are they?" she said. "I've been running around this whole county for weeks, trying to figure out if there are other werewolves around, making sure I'd not run into any local packs' territory accidentally."

"There are none," he said quietly. There was such starkness to his harsh, mesmerising features, his face so expressionless yet so full of anger, _anguish_, a tangible sorrow that…that a tiny part of Mary recognised it, because every cell in her body was drowning in it too, and that flicker of recognition, of understanding and compassion, softened her. The tension between them melted, and Mary sighed softly. She glanced at him, searching his face. No local packs, but here he stood, a strong Beta, old enough to assume Alpha status in his own pack if the old one died, alone. There was so much loneliness emanating from him, Mary felt a deepening pang in the persistent ache in her chest. "You have your aunt to thank for that."

Mary frowned, canting her head as she glanced up at him, surprised. "My aunt?"

"Kate Argent," he said coldly. Rage roiled off him in waves so virulent Mary could almost taste it. She blinked, a little bemused… She hadn't seen her aunt for a year, but before that she had done her best to try and twist her way into Mary's head during her father's rigorous training of Mary as a Hunter. There was something so deeply warped about Kate that Mary had never trusted her, and that distrust had only grown after she had joined her pack in San Francisco and learned what her aunt, what her _family_, was truly capable of.

The most prolific werewolf-assassins in the world, the Argents were very widely-known in the supernatural world. The Argent family were cautionary tales, stories were told at bedtime to natural-born cubs to warn them what happened to werewolves who didn't learn control. A werewolf _never_ incurred the wrath of Gerard Argent if he wanted to live.

Mary frowned gently, a slight crinkle to her nose as she regarded him. If this male had met Kate…that much anger, she guessed he had run afoul of her a time or two. _He_ was still alive…but thanks to Kate, there were no local packs in Beacon Hills.

"How do you know Kate is my aunt?"

"Scott told me you're Allison's sister," he said quietly. He had firm lips, set sternly, but sometimes there was the tiniest flicker in his eyes that softened the rest of his features.

Mary sighed. "I am."

"By your limited response, I'm guessing you don't think it's any of my business who your family is," he said coolly.

"It's my business to keep you from that family if it means my secret _remains_ a secret," Mary said sternly, gazing unflinchingly at him. Eye-contact was one of the first things her father had taught her during Hunter training; before that, the self-conscious, lonely fifteen-year-old had been too shy to hold someone's eye. Those silver eyes glowed back at her, a hard edge to them trying to mask curiosity.

"They don't know what you are?" he asked.

Mary gave him a completely humourless smile. "Would I be standing talking to you if they did?"

"They would kill their own daughter?"

"The Argents have a code of honour," Mary said quietly. Eye-contact, and the Code, the two things her father had taught her that had always stuck with her, more than any other aspect of her Hunter training. The Code referred to their treatment of werewolves in the battle to protect the human race…but it also made reference to what an Argent did when they found themselves bitten and turning into the very thing they brutally assassinated on a regular basis. "If you don't take care of what they think you have to do, they'll do it for you."

"They'd kill their own daughter?"

"They'd kill the elder if they thought she was a threat to the younger," Mary shrugged. It was a harsh but accepted reality of her life that she was in no way, shape or form the favoured child. She was too resistant, too rebellious; she _had her own mind_, had stopped taking her parents' advice when she was thirteen, and walking away from Hunter training had been the first in a series of events and arguments that had served to create a wall between them. Said wall was like the Black Gate into Mordor. Impenetrable, littered with mutilated creatures that represented every vicious argument she had had with her parents. That ugliness was a constant reminder and made the wall even tougher to breach.

"Ah. Favouritism," he remarked, with a slight quirk of his lips that seemed to warm his features infinitely.

"Mm," Mary murmured gently, sighing.

"I know the Argents begin training their children as teenagers," he said, those silver eyes glowing at her from the semi-dark. "Did you receive the Bite during one of your first Hunts?"

"I'd walked away from Hunter training before I was bitten," Mary said quietly. His dark eyebrows flickered, bemused. She eyed him carefully. He knew what her family was, knew what _she_ was, so if he wanted to he could make her life a living hell, but he was here, talking to her, a little confused and wary, probably wondering why she was here, in Beacon Hills, an Omega with blue eyes and Hunters for parents. "I decided a life immersed in the supernatural wasn't what I wanted for myself."

The irony wasn't lost on her. And his lips quirked as he let out a soft chuckle. His features softened, flicking those grey eyes to her almost hesitantly.

"Scott mentioned an accident," he said quietly, losing that momentary humour. Mary locked eyes with him, frowning bemusedly, head slightly tilted. How did Scott know about that? She let out a breath, a little stunned… Allison had talked to Scott about Mary? She'd told him about the accident? Memories started niggling at the back of her mind, the screech of tires, rain pattering against glass, metal scraping stone, soft whimpers…the metallic tang of the scent of blood thick in the air, she could almost taste it, the pressure in her ears as she dangled upside-down… Her heart-rate rising, Mary's body started to shiver and twitch, she winced and her lips parted on a gasp at the remembered sound of the sickening, wet crunch of a skull shattering on rock, trying to suppress the memories that she had trained herself to only revisit in her very worst nightmares.

She gulped down the threat of bile, her throat thick and burning, and she took several steadying breaths as her heart-rate skittered. She eyed the male in front of her. "The accident…was nearly a year after I walked away from training. I wasn't…conscious to…to reject the Bite."

"You would have rejected the gift?" He canted his head to the side, curious.

"All I got in the accident was _concussion_," Mary said, and there was a hard, bitter edge to her voice when she spoke that surprised even her. Her bitterness and anger, her _grief_, was still there, despite everything she had done this past year to move on from the debilitating guilt and grief that had consumed her—consumed her so much, she was one of the fastest to ever retain control of herself on the full moon. She shook herself, and sighed. "I walked away from training because I didn't want anything to do with my family's heritage… It's funny how things work out, isn't it."

"Maybe it's karmic payback," he remarked, with a surprisingly teasing smile. Mary laughed softly, without humour, because she'd always thought so, too.

"I don't think the Argents would find it quite as ironic," she said quietly. His dark eyebrows flickered. She sighed to herself. "In fact they'd be disgusted. And very quickly figuring out how best to kill me and make it look like an accident to the police." She eyed the male in front of her. He was definitely attractive—most werewolves were, she had found. But he was scarred and brutalised emotionally, she could practically taste it, and distrust emanated from him. But she also…remembered something.

She frowned, head canted to the side as she regarded him. The night of the last full-moon she had gone out just as Allison had been dropped off from a party, she had said Scott had ditched her but he'd orchestrated that someone give her a ride home.

"What is it?" he asked.

"You're the one who gave Allison a ride from the party," she said quietly, eyeing him differently now. She had been invited to Lydia Martin's party by a couple of hot seniors on the swim-team; above all she loved a guy with arm-muscles to spare. And, the full-moon, she had been ready to work out some frustration. The hot seniors had been accommodating. But she had seen Allison leave the party with a shadowy guy—_him_. He was a strong Beta, yes, he was _alone_, and for whatever reason he had made sure Allison had made it home when Scott had "gone lunar", as one of her old pack-mates used to say.

He sighed heavily, then fixed her in the eye. "I couldn't let him hurt her."

"He went after Allison?" That surprised her. A new werewolf was usually driven by bloodlust and rage during their first few full-moons, the urge to tear apart anything and anyone it came across—not everyday _lust_ and the primal desire to be near one's mate…

"I think he fixated on her, wanting to be near her, even wanting to protect her," he said quietly, his hands in his pockets. There was something a little more open about his features now, as he talked about Scott.

"Protect her?" Mary gave a humorous quirk of her lips. "From what?"

"From me."

"You?"

"I gave Allison a ride home to make sure he didn't attack her, but when he found out I'd been near her…"

"He assumed you'd intended to hurt her," Mary nodded.

"I got Allison's blazer and hung it in the woods; he followed the scent. I made sure he calmed down," he said quietly. Then he gave her a humourless look. "Before your father arrived with his crossbows."

"Ah," Mary said softly, her eyebrows quirking. "Yeah. I have a trigger-happy family." He made a face, like he knew exactly how trigger-friendly the Argents were, and she quirked the corner of her lips in slight amusement. "So Scott knows about the Argents, then?"

"I made him aware of some of the dangers of being a werewolf," he said quietly, giving her a subtle glare.

"But you're not an Alpha, so you didn't Bite him," she said softly, then frowned thoughtfully. She glanced at him. "Why are you taking so much interest in Scott?"

"Besides not wanting him to reveal our secret, and not wanting innocent people to get hurt because he's resisting my help training him?" he said. Mary chuckled softly. So much distrust oozed from him, she didn't wonder that it manifested into something that made others hesitant to trust him. It was a vicious cycle.

"It's not just that, is it?" Mary said. "Yes, it's the mature werewolves' duty to train new ones, but something is going on, isn't it?"

"What do you know?" he asked fiercely, his eyes shining bright silver in the moonlight. Mary ran her tongue over her canine-tooth, watching him. Tension radiated from him.

"I know wherever my family has moved in the past has always been strategic for Hunting," Mary said honestly, watching his reaction. His eyes tightened, brows drawing close. "So do you want to tell me who bit Scott?" He gave her a very dangerous look, distrust radiating from him like a tidal-wave. Mary quirked an eyebrow. "D'you think, what, I'm going to go home and tell my parents who it is?" Beneath her light, teasing tone, a flare of real anger stirred in her stomach. She knew what her parents did on their Hunting trips, she knew what happened to collateral damage, she had seen a werewolf tortured for information on his pack—she had walked away from that. "Now that I am what I am, I've been putting all of my energy into hiding it from experts who can literally spot a werewolf at fifty paces. My pack were the best friends I have ever had, they were my _family_. I know how packs _really_ live. But my parents' philosophies are still stuck in the 1700. Being a werewolf is a _facet_ of who I am. For all I know, the one who bit Scott could be a kindergarten teacher who volunteers at soup-kitchens in her spare time."

"You really believe that?" he chuckled darkly.

Mary shrugged. "My Alpha was one of the best surgeons in the country."

"Well, this Alpha killed my sister," he said coldly. Mary frowned. He sighed. "You don't know who I am, do you?"

"No, I don't," she said honestly. He sighed wearily.

"Derek Hale," he said, catching her eye and keeping eye-contact. "I was born a werewolf. About ten years ago, the rest of my family died in a house-fire." Mary stared back at him, as obvious pain flickered across his harsh features. Her stomach cramped. Nearly ten years ago… "Yeah," he said, possibly seeing her thought-process flickering across her face. "Nearly ten years ago. Around about the time your aunt, Kate Argent, a _Hunter_, lived in Beacon Hills."

Mary exhaled a breath, weariness and sadness weighing on her shoulders, and she dropped her head, shaking it sadly. Derek frowned at her.

"You don't seem very surprised by my accusation."

Mary sighed and glanced up, shaking her head again. "Better than anyone, I know what the people in my _family_ are capable of." She toed a clump of moss. "There's a reason I didn't want to have anything to do with it." She glanced up, eyes widening. Derek _Hale_. "The body…_Laura_ Hale."

"Yeah," Derek said coolly, with a forced detachment that Mary recognised; she used it herself to conceal how deeply she felt her emotions. "My sister. There's an Alpha in town, I don't know who, but they killed her. Took her status as Alpha."

"And you're here to…kill them? Take that status back?"

"Yes." Mary let out a humourless laugh, nodding.

"And you need Scott?"

"The new Alpha bit him, not Laura," Derek said quietly.

"Ah," Mary nodded, with a little sigh. "So you need to use Scott's connection with this new Alpha to figure out who it is."

"And I need to train him," Derek said quietly. Mary glanced at Derek, eyes narrowing shrewdly.

"What did you promise him?" she asked, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. Derek frowned. "You _didn't_ tell him he could be cured if he kills the one who bit him?" She laughed, genuinely amused. "That was disproved _years_ ago by Hunters who murdered the Alphas who bit them, trying to get out of the Hunter suicide-clause." She chuckled softly. In her pack, that legend was told to new werewolves who were desperate not to be one; the Alpha or the favoured Betas would promise to train them, so they could find and kill the Alpha who bit them…but by the time they finished their training, they had fallen in love with being a werewolf too much. They had fallen in love with the _Pack_ too much.

Maybe the same would happen for Scott.

"Are you going to tell him?" Derek asked sternly. Mary glanced at him.

"He doesn't like the gift?"

"You said you didn't want it," Derek shot back. Mary shrugged slightly.

"I didn't have a choice," she said quietly. "I've made the best out of what hand I've been dealt…or I _did_…" She had been able to make the best out of being a werewolf because she had been surrounded by some of the very best people she had ever loved, in the place she loved best in the world. But that was gone, now.

"Scott didn't have a choice either."

"Why doesn't he want it?"

"He doesn't think he can…have the life he wants, as well as be a werewolf."

"He'll learn."

"Not if he continues to resist my help training him," Derek muttered.

"Maybe it's your attitude," Mary suggested. He shot her a dark glower, and she laughed softly. She sighed softly. "I won't take away the hope Scott has…but in time he'll probably come around."

"You think so?" There was a teasing smirk on Derek's lips, his eyes illuminated with amusement.

Mary sighed miserably, eyeing him. "Everyone does, eventually." She pursed her lips thoughtfully, eyeing Derek. She sighed heavily, and said, "I understand what you have to do, to avenge your sister. But if you came after me to ask for my help—"

"I wanted to know your parents aren't using you to infiltrate and destroy packs," Derek corrected, and Mary sighed sadly. Even _he_ had thrown that at her, and they had only just met. She was cursed by the circumstances of her life and the circumstances of her _birth_: she was a werewolf whose parents were werewolf-hunters.

She lived _in fear_ of them.

She would never _help_ them. Because helping them implied she would _ever_ reveal what she was to them.

And the people who knew that, who should have known her far better by now, had thought she might one day see the method behind her parents' madness and partner up with her psychotic aunt, routing werewolf-packs all across America. She had been pushed out of the Pack, not because she had done _anything_ wrong, but because the safety of the pack was of the utmost importance. And if it meant the happiness of one young Beta had to be sacrificed so the rest could remain safe, whole, then so be it.

The final insult had been them saying she could _take care of herself_. She was a young, very strong and _clever_ Beta. She'd had the training, she knew how her parents operated; they thought she could survive on her own.

Which, to her, had basically said, 'We've had a great year, but we want you to get the hell away from us and we don't particularly care what happens to you next.'

"When a Beta from a rival pack threatened the baby, I ripped the heart out of his chest with my hand," she said coolly, staring at Derek, her hackles rising. "I _protect_ my pack. I _did_ protect it. By whatever means necessary—I don't help warped zealots murder innocent people in the name of protecting _mankind_." In her opinion, Man deserved whatever the hell it got.

"They asked you to leave," Derek said quietly. Her old pack. Mary's shoulders slumped, feeling emotionally exhausted, eyes tired and heavy. Her tongue poked between her teeth to sweep across her lips.

"I thought they knew me better," she whispered, exhausted. 'Crushed' was a better word. 'Heart ripped open' was another phrase that fit.

He'd ruined her momentum. She jogged home, dawdled, really, coming up to the quiet street of oversized houses lacking personality in the early moments just before dawn. She stood on the street in the dark and stared at the house for a few minutes, heaviness weighing on her insides, more lethargic due to emotional baggage than physical overexertion. _Home_.

What a joke.

* * *

**A.N.**: Please review! I know I deserve corporal-punishment for not updating in six months, but I had shit to do!


	3. Family Dynamics

**A.N.**: After six months, two updates in one week! I'm spoiling you all. Luckily, being inspired by Isaac's delectable baby-blue eyes, the _Gatsby_ soundtrack and _Charbonnel et Walker_ chocolates, I have been writing for _Jekyll_.

* * *

**Jekyll and Hyde**

_03_

_Family Dynamics_

* * *

Kate hadn't expected Mary to slug her. During one of Mary's "training" sessions, Kate had been in town, and decided to take over the 'information extraction' portion of Mary's education. Except, Mary had recognised in her aunt something so deeply warped, sociopathic, _sadistic_, enjoying the pain of the werewolf she was torturing, Mary hadn't been able to take it. When Kate had laughed and kept doing it, Mary had hit her. _Hard_.

Since then, four years ago, Mary's relationship with her father's sister had been pretty much nonexistent. Not even a birthday-card. Mary didn't complain; she already had too much family she would rather be without. The fact that Kate didn't visit often, and stuck to treating Allison to manicures and shopping-sprees when she did, was fine with her. Kate's behaviour, and worse, her attitude towards it, was one of the many reasons Mary had walked away from her Hunter training.

Her dad knew about the torture, about Mary breaking Kate's nose. He may not fully appreciate _why_ Mary didn't want to share her family's long heritage of wholesale genocide, but he had accepted that she didn't want a Hunter's life for herself, and respected Mary's choice. But he was also Kate's brother, and Mary's father, and when Kate came to visit, he expected Mary to at least be polite. Or…_around_.

Mary _guessed_, anyway; Kate hadn't visited since the early days in San Francisco.

Why Kate had come here, to Beacon Hills, was beyond Mary. She knew the way the Hunter network operated; her father and grandfather, the terrifying bogeyman of the werewolf world, were kind of like a Mafia Don and his heir. Their family had been doing this so long, how could they not be the absolute leaders? Kate went wherever the most action was, where she could get away with being as brutal as she liked to be, and nobody would ask questions because she was an Argent. But Mary's father hadn't called _Kate_ to come into town and provide backup against the Alpha threat Mary had heard about from Derek Hale.

Why was Kate here? She just didn't _come_ for casual family-visits. There was no such thing as cosy white Christmases in the Argent family; they didn't have big Thanksgiving get-togethers to watch the game and gorge themselves on turkey. Their approach to holidays and birthdays was…that they _didn't_ approach them. Her parents spoiled Allison on birthdays to compensate for such a tumultuous upbringing, but Christmases were always just normal days of the week, just with a pretty tree and a couple presents thrown in, sometimes surrounded by cardboard-boxes from the most recent move.

Mary had never made a big deal of her birthday; just after Valentine's Day, she had the disadvantage of having her birthday just after Christmas season, and growing up, her family's constant upheaval so her daddy could go hunting monsters, she had usually just started a new school and barely had time to make friends before her birthday approached. Her parents would have a cake, she'd perhaps get a present she would never have bought for herself, pretending to appreciate it while wondering why they had even bothered, and she'd go to bed. The sun would rise the next morning, as if nothing had happened. Maybe she didn't feel like her birthday was anything special because, if Allison did well on a test or one of her archery tournaments, Dad would make his famous four-tier Black Forest Gateau and Mom would buy her something pretty. Mary's birthday only had a few candles to differentiate it. And a few less presents.

As a younger girl, this had bothered Mary. She'd never truly _envied_ Allison for being the favourite, particularly; now she just appreciated having a sister on whom her parents could lavish all their affection—and attention.

She absolutely did not need their scrutiny.

They could give Allison the attention and spoil her with clothes and pretty things, because they constantly smothered her with their expectations of her. _Controlling_ her every moment. Mary was probably a lost cause in their eyes. And she was fine with that.

But she did have to remind herself that these were her _parents_…and she was stuck with them until she could afford to get away…

She was almost there.

But until then she had to make nice…as nice as she had been since the Pack had decided she should leave the city with her _parents_, rather than encourage her to stay with her family. Her parents had fucked her life over so many times, directly through their own interference, and indirectly, through others' fear of them, but the fact her pack-mates had believed she would _ever_ side with her mother and father over _them_…

Mary had always had a vicious relationship with her mother. Growing up with the constant moves, the dependability of her father's sure, constant nobility, Allison snuggling up tight at bed-time when they had still shared a bedroom, upset about another move, those were the good parts of Mary's childhood. The bad parts were her mother's _episodes_. Those episodes were what resonated in Mary's memory, what still held her in the iron grip of debilitating _fear_. The past year, she had lived in constant terror of her parents—her psychotic, violent mother especially. Hiding what she was, becoming a completely different person they barely recognised as their own firstborn daughter because she _wasn't_ that girl any more, and when she was around, they had no clue who she was.

They didn't recognise anything of themselves in Mary; truth be told, the people who had had the most influence over her recently hadn't been her _parents_. They had been her _family_… Her Pack. Her pack had protected and nurtured her, encouraged her and showed her the affection and complete and utter loyalty she had never truly known from her parents. Her pack had helped her through the worst trauma in her life, while her parents had brushed it off and called her weak for feeling her grief so profoundly.

The last year had made her unrecognisable to her parents in a way that meant they wondered more about bad influences and the chances of her contracting an STD or doing drugs, than ever entertain the thought she might be one of the monsters they made a habit of cutting in half at the waist.

Christopher and Victoria Argent had their own secrets they kept from their daughters: Mary kept an even darker secret from them in turn, and was far better at it.

Over the last nineteen years of her life, Mary had learned to hide things so they stayed hidden. Everything she had gotten up to last year—the _best_ year of her life, hectic, full of parties and _friends_, laughter, really hot sex, road-trips, the baby, the inextinguishable feeling of _belonging_—she had documented in photographs, in artwork, in mementos she had kept—and all of which, she had kept hidden. The things in her bedroom were the sorts of things people placed out in show-homes to entice potential buyers to envision their own stuff littered around, making it their home. The Classics, some of her art, the memory-jars she had put together to commemorate vacations past, when she still liked her family. But everything else, everything _precious_ to her, had to be hidden.

She was nineteen years old; in the past year she had opened up safety-deposit boxes at banks, rented out a storage-unit, worked part-time jobs to save up money so she could _get out_.

But she couldn't, not yet.

She had a feeling, whatever Derek Hale was trying to do, find the Alpha that had killed his sister for her power, whatever Kate was in town for, especially since she knew it was Derek Hale the Hunters were looking into…Mary guessed it was all connected… And at some point, the various sparks and gunpowder would collide and ignite in a big way.

Scott, the new Beta, would be caught in the middle of it; and because of her growing affection for him, and her complete cluelessness to their parents' double-life, so would an unwitting Allison.

Mary may loathe and fear her mother, but she had always had a lot of respect for her father. And as for her little-sister, the fact that Allison got all the attention was a godsend for Mary. Despite all their differences, the disconnect between Mary and their parents, she still did…_like_ Allison. Love was a complicated subject, especially within the domineering, psychotic Argent clan, but in the last year, being part of a pack that revolved around _family_ as the source of its strength, Mary had discovered that even if Allison was a meek little goody-goody…it was just her way of dealing with their parents. Never disappointing them; Mary took a completely different approach. But she respected Allison for doing what she had to, to survive their parents.

She sighed, eyeing the contents of the enormous industrial refrigerator in the new kitchen. They'd lived in an old Victorian in San Francisco, a beautiful place with bay-windows, antique chandeliers and _character_. This house, for all its size and grandeur, was very new. She hated it. Large rooms with high ceilings and minimalist furniture, barely any personal trinkets… It was like nearly every other house she had ever lived in. Her stomach ached as she thought of her Alpha's home, a big sprawling Victorian full of laughter, the baby's gurgles, the boys roughhousing playfully, music, the mingled aura of nail-polish, hair-spray and perfume that caused her sneezing-fits in the girls' rooms, the scent of cooking meals drifting from the airy kitchen where they somehow always ended up gathering, playing cards, reading magazines, doing homework… The silence seemed to buzz in her ears just to make a point of how soulless this place was.

She wrinkled her nose, scanned the refrigerator shelves, and took out an apple and a bottle of water. To go from nirvana to _this_ place was…intolerable.

As she unscrewed the cap on the bottle of water, she tilted her head, gently scenting the air, and glanced over as someone shuffled into the kitchen, rubbing the heel of her palm into her eyes sleepily, hair dragged into a sloppy bun mussed from sleep, yawning. She jumped when she glanced up and saw Mary standing, illuminated by the open refrigerator doors, in the darkness.

"Hey," she croaked.

"Can't sleep?" Mary asked. Since childhood, she and Allison had never been close. They weren't exactly Roseanne and Jackie—they were acquaintances who happened to share a bloodline. And a very warped family tradition.

"Yeah, I, uh…have a lot on my mind," Allison mumbled, eyeing her blearily. "Did you just get in?" Mary shrugged.

"I had a lot on my mind," she sighed.

"Did you try to run all the way back to San Francisco?" Allison teased, and Mary gave her a sad smile.

"How was the family reunion?" she asked, instead of dwelling on Allison's comment about San Francisco. With her own car, Mary had pondered loading up her stuff when her parents packed up the house to move, and leaving. Then the pack had made its decision, and she'd had nowhere to actually go to…nobody who wanted her.

"Oh," Allison sighed, her long eyelashes fluttering as she pursed her lips, climbing up onto one of the stools at the island. She fiddled with the ends of her sleeves. "Aunt Kate invited Scott to stay for dinner."

"Right away, bad," Mary knew. "You brought Scott over to _study_ and he got a full Argent family ambush. Nice work."

"Yeah," Allison sighed, with a twisted smile. "Dad told him about the rabid dog in the cage." Mary, who had taken a glug of water, chuckled low and swallowed, smiling.

"Of course he did," she shook her head. Whether he wanted to admit it or not, her dad was an Alpha-male. And there was a reason she had never brought a boy home—a. because she wouldn't want his bits lopped off by her psychotic mother, and 2. because her father had his own brand of terrorization. The rabid-dog story was one they knew well.

"It gets better," Allison said, her dimples winking as she pursed her lips, eyes widening. "Aunt Kate realised I'd been in her bag… And she accused Scott of stealing from her…" Mary raised her eyebrows.

"You're gonna be lucky if you get a second date," she remarked, quirking an eyebrow.

"Well, since _I_ went into Kate's bag…and stole a condom…" Allison said, a blush warming her pale cheeks. Mary's eyes widened as she turned fully toward Allison, instead of leaning back against the counter, glancing over her shoulder; she raised her eyebrows at her sister, disbelieving but amused.

"You did _not_!" she laughed. Snow White, steal a _condom_? When the blush continued, and Allison pulled a face, Mary laughed richly. "Wow. Looks like I missed out on some prime entertainment tonight. Did Dad freak?"

"No, not yet," Allison said, sighing.

"They're probably waiting for you to fall asleep so they can transport you to the closed-convent," Mary said sagely, and Allison's lips twitched.

"I felt _so sorry_ for Scott," Allison moaned, rubbing her face. "It was horrible."

"At least you'll know whether he's worth chasing if he comes back for a second date," Mary shrugged. Allison's lips twitched.

"Yeah…I guess," she said softly. "Hey…did you hear about Kate's car-trouble?"

"No, they try and stop her at the border and turn her car around?"

"No… Dad said he went out to meet her the other night, when she got into town…because she had a flat tire…but when I talked to Kate about her car trouble, she said she needed a jump-start," Allison said quietly, frowning. Mary glanced at her from the corner of her eye.

"It's no secret the Argents have incurably flawed communication skills," she sighed softly, and Allison's lips twitched.

"Yeah," she said quietly. "Anyway…I just came down for juice." Mary nodded, and her sister grabbed the bottle of apple-juice from the refrigerator door, pouring herself a glass. Mary munched quietly on her apple—it was sweet, sharp and crunchy, _delicious_—and stood in the darkness as Allison closed the refrigerator and wandered upstairs with a mumbled, "Goodnight."

Mary was stuck in a terrible situation; a werewolf in a family of werewolf-hunters. She lived in unadulterated terror of her mother finding out, and put all her energy into deceiving her, and her father. She had been pushed out of the one family Mary had ever truly loved, adored, _respected_…and the open wounds from that betrayal, and so many others, combining with the grief she still felt debilitating flares of over the accident, all combined to make her reluctant to now form any friendships.

The past two years had been the best and also the most brutal of her life, and they…had left her broken. She couldn't face yet another rejection, another person ripped from her before she realised it; the wounds she had received before were by no means healing. To add to them sent her into an emotional tailspin at the very idea.

She had been part of the best pack she could ever have envisioned. They had been a _family_, trusting, ecstatic in each other's company, protective and encouraging. They had been everything her parents were not and everything Mary had ever wanted for her own family: the idea of joining another pack made her insides squirm and writhe in a discomfort she didn't quite know how to explain. Whoever the Alpha was in this area, they were alone; they had only Scott McCall, and the poor kid had no clue.

He had only Derek Hale, a born-werewolf and one whose every cell was saturated with grief, self-loathing and quiet, simmering anger, to try and teach him everything he needed to know how to survive. To survive Mary's _parents_.

If Scott McCall's survival was paramount to Derek Hale's plan to discover the Alpha's identity, thus allowing him to seek retribution for Laura's murder, it was dependent on Scott's ability to learn and adapt. And Scott's survival, not just from the Alpha but from the Hunters who would surely be going after him every full-moon, was also intrinsic to Allison's happiness.

If Allison had been bold enough to have stolen a condom as a precaution, after only a month of being in town and actually knowing this kid, there was definitely something special about Scott. And while, for herself, Mary had turned her back on emotional attachments to protect herself, trying to convince herself it didn't matter that she felt hollow inside, she didn't want Allison to end up like her.

"Damn," she muttered, sighing, and made her way upstairs, because if she didn't want Allison's boyfriend to end up with a hemicorporectomy, courtesy of their mother, Mary, who hadn't wanted anything to do with the supernatural before her bite, or werewolves and their packs _now_, found herself being teased in. Keep Allison from becoming detached and jaded like herself; keep Scott alive.

Easy.

_Yeah. Right_, she thought.

* * *

Chris managed to corral his eldest daughter first thing in the morning. Unusual; she was almost always gone for the day before even he woke, no note to tell them where she was going or when she would be back—punishment for him and Victoria after all their years of smothering control of her every thought and action—but she was sitting in her armchair, already dressed for the day, her backpack ready to go, with one of her artist's boards propped in her lap, frowning as her arm moved, probably creating another warped piece of art he would never understand.

He had realised a while ago that he would never get it. And he had to let that go, and let _her_ go.

They could only push so far, before she broke, and Chris knew she had reached that limit many times in the last few years, her shrieking arguments with Victoria that had often led to physical confrontation from Victoria when one of her episodes was triggered. Arguments and _fights_ that had shaken the foundations of their house, and once prompted his seventeen-year-old daughter to run away. Without saying goodbye.

But she had returned—and when she had done so, Chris had warned Victoria. No fights, no confrontation, none of her episodes. Mary was his little girl, and if they had continued to treat her the way they had in the past—utterly controlling, vicious, making sure she lived in terror of them… That wasn't what he'd wanted for his children, to grow up the way he had.

As a young teenager, Mary had started to push back. She was rebellious, yes, but not just for the sake of it; she knew her own mind, something Chris respected and wished he could just talk to her about and encourage her more… But they had crossed lines, as parents, several years ago, and there was no going back. Not with Mary. Too much had happened, too much that had fundamentally affected the person Mary was, and now Chris recognised that, because of their previous treatment of her, they didn't have a chance in hell of her letting them in to know the person she had become in the last two years.

She hadn't wanted anything to do with the Argent legacy. That was her choice; Chris just wished he knew a little about what her life was about now. He probably always would wonder; as a child, Mary would open up to him, until Victoria entered the room, and she would clam up, eyes wary, watching her mother's every move, gauging whether it was safe…

But she had always protected Allison during Victoria's episodes. And he was counting on the fact that sisterly affection lingered, despite the complete dissolution of her love and respect for her parents.

After what had happened with Kate a few years ago, Chris didn't wonder Mary hadn't been rushing to the door to greet her aunt at three a.m. And he had explained to Kate that they were lucky to _see_ Mary to make sure she was still _alive_, let alone sit down for family-dinner and _Skip-Bo_ and hot-chocolate. He doubted even his famous quadruple-tier Black Forest Gateau would tempt her now. She was counting the hours to her escape from under her parents' Iron Fist.

She had always looked like his mother. The staggeringly-beautiful heart-shaped face, the dramatic eyebrows…of course, his mother would never have tattooed herself or had her ears pierced so many times they could drain spaghetti, but she would have appreciated Mary's striking beauty and her toughness. Of course, his mother would have smacked Chris for allowing Victoria to emotionally and physically brutalise Mary when she was younger, for the both of them running her out of their home because their controlling, intolerant behaviour towards her had become just too much, almost broken her.

Chris missed his mother…and he missed his little girl. His first child. With Allison everything had become easier; but with Mary, she had been the first. Everything with her had been so precious because she had been utterly unique. Amid a life of chaos, violence and tension, she had been a tiny, warm bundle of affection and contentment; she had rarely cried out for them, even as a baby, but she used to fall asleep curled up on Chris's stomach, had always used to follow _him_ with her eyes when she had learned to sit up and recognise faces.

She had always been his little sweetheart…and because of the way he and Victoria had treated her, he had lost her.

She didn't look up from her artist's-board as she scratched away with a pen, but her blinds were drawn up, he could smell a rich rose perfume on the air and coconut-steam dissipating in the en-suite bathroom from her shower, and she was already dressed, her hair done, wearing pretty jewellery. While he gave Allison everything she wanted to compensate for his guilt over moving her around so much, Mary never asked for anything; she went out and got a part-time job so she never had to. That way, whatever she bought for herself couldn't be taken away as punishment, the way Allison no longer had a television in her bedroom.

"Hey, kiddo," he said softly, rapping his knuckles gently on the open door before entering—Allison gave him so much attitude about entering her room without knocking, though she was lucky he didn't take the door _off_ after last night. Mary gave a nod. He sighed to himself, "That was almost a _hello_… We had company for dinner last night."

"I _heard_," Mary said, with one of her detached, irreverent smiles that made her cheekbones pop. "I heard you gave him the old rabid-dog speech. That's one sure-fire way to make sure Allison grows old _alone_ and unloved." She arched one of her dramatic eyebrows and gave him a distinctive look. "Did you _want_ grandchildren?"

Chris waved that comment aside. "There's special banks for that."

"Oh, _gross_," Mary half-laughed, cringing. She gave him another look. "Would you pick out the donor, too?"

Chris paused, pretending to ponder the idea. "D'you think she'd let me?" Mary gave him a little smile, almost like the one she used to when she was little. Genuinely amused by his cluelessness and discomfort.

"Why didn't you just hold him down on the dining-table and have Kate sterilise him?" she asked, her intense hazel gaze returning to her artist's-board. "That's the kind of guy you want for Allison, right? _Neutered_."

"You have a smart mouth," Chris remarked.

"And the attitude to go with it," Mary shrugged a shoulder idly, still drawing. "So, to what dubious honour do I owe this visit?"

"I'm gonna go out on a limb here and guess Allison may have talked to you about what happened last night?" Chris said, stifling a shiver of discomfort.

"You mean she stole a condom from Kate's stash just in case things got steamy between her and Scott during their study-session?" Mary said unconcernedly, her lips twitching with amusement, making her cheekbones pop.

"So that's a yes." He fought a twitch.

"At least she's taking responsibility. Risking leaving it up to the guy is what gets you on _16 & Pregnant_," Mary said; considering the fact their relationship had been so strained since she was fifteen, they had never been comfortable discussing the awkward subjects, like sex, and they _never_ teased each other, especially about that. Mary glanced up, when her comment fell flat. Chris didn't understand pop-culture references; everything changed too damn quickly these days. "_MTV_ reality-show, Dad."

"Right," he said. "So you approve of Allison stealing condoms?"

Mary frowned thoughtfully at the foot of her dresser, then glanced up and said, "From the store?" She chuckled, shaking her head as she turned back to her artwork. "You're not mad she stole one. It's given you the heebie-jeebies she'd even know what one is used for. She's nearly seventeen… Time to cut the cord."

"You're my little girls; I'll never stop looking at you and see you running around the yard when you were five, wearing that little navy dress with the white polka-dots, giggling uncontrollably as you chased after Avery," Chris said, and it was true. He couldn't stop remembering how his daughters were before he had messed everything up. And Avery had been his favourite dog of all time, a beautiful Labrador-retriever they'd gotten as a puppy when Victoria was six months pregnant with Mary. Avery had _adored _Mary, protecting her everywhere they went.

"You've got to let her grow up some time," Mary said quietly, eyes still on her work, a subtle frown between her brows, her nose with a dainty little crinkle to it.

Chris frowned. "Do I have to?"

"You've seen how effectively trying to control _my_ every moment has worked out for you," Mary said, and this time she looked up. She stared him right in the eyes as she said, "Want your relationship with her to deteriorate to the same point ours has?"

"Well, given how effective it was when your mom and I tried to talk to you about sex—" Mary let out a deep, throaty chuckle that resonated through the room, and, for a second, touched Chris's heart "—that's my point exactly! And not wanting _Kate_ and her opinions anywhere near Allison on the subject, your mom and I were hoping that perhaps you'd…talk to her."

"Mom wants _me_ to talk to Allison about sex?" Mary shot him a dangerous look. "She told me she'd beat the shit out of me if I even touched a boy, you know that sure as hell didn't have the intended outcome… The threat _or_ the beating." She scratched away rather hard at her board; he could hear each pass of the pen.

"_I_ would like you to talk to Allison," Chris sighed. "Talk to her about sex, about boys, dating. I know Allison always blamed us as the reason she'd never have a boyfriend in high-school—"

"Which you love—"

"Which your mom and I love, yes, but something about this kid…" Chris sighed, and Mary glanced up, eyeing him thoughtfully, gauging his expression, his tells, as he observed the delicate twinkle of her dangly gold earring, the pretty lip-colour she was wearing, even her outfit. Used to be, he could tell what kind of mood she was in, what she was dealing with emotionally, by what she wore. Now, he had no clue. He sighed, then grudgingly admitted, "She likes him."

"_Wow_," Mary gasped, eyes widening in incredulous delight, even _smiling_. "You _hate_ him!"

"I don't hate him."

"You _twitched_," she observed, with a delighted smile he saw too rarely. "You hate him."

"Alright, I hate him," Chris muttered.

"You never got like this with me with any of the boys I dated," Mary observed idly.

"That's because you never brought any of them home," Chris shot back.

"Maybe I didn't want you scaring them off with your rabid-dog story," Mary said, raising her eyebrows, giving him a pointed expression. "Face it, Dad, you're scary."

"I'm not scary," he said, in a deadpan tone that made Mary chuckle.

"You are. You're intimidating. You're a terrifying Alpha-male," she said, then chuckled softly, shaking her head. She licked her lips, and sighed, "Poor kid."

"Whatever. I'm your dad," Chris said. "It's my job."

"Right."

"But you're Allison's big-sister, so would you just… She'll listen to you. What you say to her does have an influence on her."

"_Right_." Mary laughed.

"You remember when you started going to parties, one night you took Allison along," Chris said. Much as he had been _loathe_ to do it, when Mary had started being asked out to parties and on dates, it had become more dangerous not to allow her to go, when she had spent her entire life training to evade detection and capture by him. Now that she was trained with Hunter tactics, she could get away from him even easier.

"When?"

"When we were living in Minnesota."

"You're lucky we're not still living in Minnesota. Having sex's basically the only thing _to_ do." Chris stifled a twitch. Talking about sex with his eldest daughter wasn't on his To-Do list for the day. And her talking about sex in such a blasé tone _really_ unnerved him.

"But you took her to a party, and you came home and, you remember, you were still sharing a bedroom?" Chris said. Back when things were easier, simpler…they had been kind to Mary.

"I remember," Mary mumbled, her eyes downcast, her features…incredibly sad. Chris flicked his eyes over his daughter's lax face. There weren't many times in the last two years when that irreverent, accusing smile had slipped, but when it had, it had revealed emotions Chris didn't want to even contemplate his daughter having to hide. Because of _them_. "I made popcorn, we sat up talking about boys and _kissing_…"

"And when she got invited to her first dance, you took her shopping, taught her how to do her makeup," Chris reminded her. No matter her relationship with Chris and Victoria, Mary had always taken care of Allison, being the big-sister, the motherly figure Victoria had never been, full of advice and compassion, _kindness_.

"Yeah, well, she couldn't go to _Mom_ about that stuff," Mary said, and a harsh, bitter edge crept into her tone, her eyes sharpening with a glare as she scratched away with her pen.

"Well, exactly," Chris sighed.

"Alright, _fine_," Mary yawned, capping her pen. "I'll give her some sisterly, and _wise_, advice."

"Thank you," Chris smiled. Then he frowned, aghast and panicky. "But don't let her think we're telling her to go and have sex!"

"She's nearly seventeen, Dad," Mary sighed, then she laughed, "She's not looking for _permission_. I'm sure as hell not gonna do to her what you let Mom do to me."

"Well… I appreciate you being such a good big-sister to Allison," Chris sighed.

"Uh-huh."

* * *

She had been asked to talk to her sister about _sex_. All day, as she sat through her AP classes, becoming more and more bored and morose, doodling in the sketchbook she brought to class with her texts and composition-notebooks exactly for the purpose, Mary had been dwelling on her own sexual experiences, with whom, and, more terrifyingly, her mother's reaction to finding her birth-control patches. Mary would _never_ forget her mother's episode that night. It had been the worst ever, and she had had to try to explain to…to Tommy…exactly where she had gotten the bruises and the split-lip.

He'd been ready to take someone's head off for hurting her, fearing she'd been mugged, or worse. In English, the teacher discussing _Measure for Measure_ and their forthcoming study of the Shakespearean History _King John_, Mary had sat, head tucked down on her arm, gazing at the small photograph she had kept tucked in her wallet, of her and Tommy, in a blistering afternoon on the beach at Santa Cruz. She could still taste the fresh saltwater-taffy, could feel the rickety old wooden rollercoaster, the warm sand between her toes, Tommy's strong hand between her thighs, wrapped up in a towel so no-one saw…could remember how _happy_ they had been, so in love with each other… Her big strong bear, intimidating as shit to other guys, six-foot-five and ripped, but the definition of protective, comforting and affectionate, warm…she had always felt safe in his arms.

She hadn't been _happy_ for weeks—but today was a new low. She was utterly miserable.

The only good thing was that being miserable meant her body felt too lethargic to be unbearably horny. Which meant she could function like a regular person without pining and whimpering for the guy in her History class with the great ass and firm biceps to take her down to the boiler-room again like he had last week, just to take the edge off. She couldn't face the idea of doing that today, not in her present mood; today she was liberated from her hungry honey-pot making all her decisions for her, but only because she was spiralling into a depressive mood that would culminate in her hitting the nearest bar after Track and Field. And _wallowing_.

She'd made a promise to somebody in the past year not to introspect. To live her life, as if her friends were living vicariously through her. To be the life of the party. But the douche she had made the promise to had ended up carving out what little remained unscathed of her mutilated heart, serving it up to the rest of the Pack to take a stab at.

She sighed deeply, eyeing her locker-door, muttered, "Damn," and smacked her forehead against the cool metal, resisting the burn in her eyes threatening to overwhelm her. She raised a fist to pump the side of it lightly against the locker beside hers, eyes closed, and sighed again. Thinking about Tommy, then about _him_, and the _Pack_…damn it, if she wanted to introspect like a bitch, and _wallow_ and drink herself into a stupor because today she couldn't _handle _it, she would! She had endured personal tragedy after tragedy, devastated and…_alone_. And it was hard. It _hurt_. If she wanted to get shit-faced because today, she couldn't cope with her heart being eviscerated, well, she'd earned the right to deal with her pain any way she wanted.

She wanted to get legless and _cry_.

She bumped her forehead gently against the cool metal of her locker again, taking a shaky breath, and as she subtly inhaled, she recognised a familiar scent amongst the chaotic perfume of a high-school corridor. Allison.

She couldn't go out and get wasted to drown her annihilated emotions, and fill up the endless, gaping chasm that had once been the location of her heart, because she had to be the big-sister and do something unselfish and give the benefit of her experience to a little-sister who'd never suffered their mother's psychotic viciousness. Mary had always tried to protect Allison from it.

She certainly wasn't going to leave it up to Johnny Hormones to teach Allison about safety, and she would never want Allison to go to their _mother_. If Allison wanted to go on the pill, as an eighteen-year-old and legal adult, Mary could do a lot for her that she'd had to do in secret so she didn't get caught and pistol-whipped by her mother.

_Sisterly bonding… How precious_, she thought, miserable, tired and definitely ready to go and curl up under a feather duvet and never come out, unless it was to poke her head out to suck at a bendy straw sticking out of a bottle of rum.

She was miserable all day.

And nobody noticed.

It was the new reality of her life; that _nobody_ _noticed_.

But she noticed everything; she had to focus on _not_ noticing that she heard everything, saw things other people didn't, _smelled_ everything, felt people's emotions as keenly as her own sometimes. She had to work at pretending she didn't feel _everything_.

But for the first time in weeks, she was curious. There were aspects of her personality that had been heightened by the Bite, and some that had developed because of it; curiosity, wiliness, a love of rough play and _touch_ had become part and parcel of her gift. The fact she had been so miserable lately, with intermittent bouts of unendurable lust, had quelled a lot of her other emotions, tamped down her heightened senses… Because she just hadn't cared. But now she was curious.

In the library during her afternoon free-period (when she would usually be in the boiler-room having sex or getting stoned, or cutting out early) she set up a search page on a free computer, and looked into the Hale family… One article she found had featured a family photograph. It was a completely different Derek Hale in that picture than the one she had met in the woods. He had such a breathtaking smile; in the photograph, he had been grinning, his eyes sparkling, his expression open and jovial, _happy_. He'd still had the same ripped arms, though.

He looked like his mother. Talia. _Pretty name_, she thought, the heart she had thought already too battered to have any sensitivity left squeezing at the sight of the photograph. There was a young girl propped on Derek's hip; she had full lips, warm brunette hair pulled into a sloppy ballerina-bun, and wore high-tops and a plain denim-coloured shift dress. Studying the caption beneath the photograph, Mary read, 'Cora Hale, aged eleven'.

The Hunter Code was that they never went after anyone unless they had absolute, irrefutable proof that the werewolf being targeted had spilt human blood. Of course, when Hunters trawled the woods just looking for an opportunity to shoot werewolves full of arrows, there would always be casualties when said werewolves defended themselves against a vicious, no-mercy attack.

But they never went after anyone but _adult_ werewolves.

At least…that was the rule. And gazing at the gentle, affectionate smile emanating from Cora Hale's soft, guileless face as she gazed at the photographer, she couldn't imagine how anyone would want to see her suffer such a horrific death. Mary only hoped the smoke and fumes killed her before the flames reached her.

She read the articles on the internet, written about the fire six years ago; the family had been stuck in the basement of their old Victorian house in the woods, where the Hale family still owned most of the land. Whether they had been trapped there, investigators couldn't ascertain due to the damage, though there was speculation it hadn't been an accident, rather, arson. Fire destroyed as much as water in crime-scenes; Mary had learned that from _Criminal Minds_. Taking notes, on how to commit matricide and get away with it.

Reading about the fire, seeing the faces of the ten people who had died—_four_ beautiful children with sweet, precocious, dimpled smiles—and the sole survivor, Peter Hale, who had survived with burns to seventy-five percent of his body, Mary felt a swell of sorrow that threatened to overspill with tears, and remembering what Derek Hale had said to her in the woods, knowing that Kate had lived here in Beacon Hills six years ago… Having seen what she had of her aunt's sadistic pleasure in torturing an innocent werewolf for information on his pack…Derek's accusation hit hard and…didn't surprise her that she agreed with his belief in her aunt's part in the fire.

She had seen what Kate was capable of. So Mary had no trouble believing she could have done this. But an _entire_ family?

Kate was even more messed up than she had guessed.

Even more reason for Mary to keep herself as distanced from the Argent family career-path. And to make sure Kate didn't start pouring poison in Allison's ear.

After years of _Krav Maga_, Israeli martial-arts, making sure she could defend herself against any attacker, her dad had ambushed her with her first training session; she had been abducted. Hunters close to her father who had orchestrated it had been surprised and impressed by her levelheadedness about the whole thing…after one of them had bandaged a broken rib and another, his fractured fingers; another had to have his nose re-set because Mary had broken it so beautifully. She had been fifteen at the time. And after she had learned all she wanted, and seen Kate's behaviour, she had walked away. After the lack of success with _her_, their parents had probably decided to stave off getting Allison started on _her_ training.

Mary had trained in Krav Maga, horse-riding and shooting. Her dad used to take her to the range. She had liked the horses, grudgingly accepted (but vocally objected) to her Krav Maga training, because having once broken her knuckle during a training session, she couldn't hold a paintbrush for a month, and she _loved_ to paint. But the guns? She had a hat-box full of them; one of the only things she had ever done with her dad in the past two years had been going to the gun-range.

Her family's cover for their extra-curricular double-life as werewolf-Hunters had always been selling firearms to law-enforcement. It followed that a. they were always surrounded by guns and 2. they learned how to use them properly so there weren't any accidental shootings… And the gun-cabinets in the garage were always locked so there couldn't be any pre-meditated matricides.

At the end of the school day, Allison finished with her gymnastics training, Mary dawdling in, yawning, from her Track and Field practice, it was unusual to see so many teenagers lingering, but with Allison's best-friend being the most academically-gifted student in the school, with a GPA higher than even Mary's, the B-Period class after school let out at the same time as most of the sports practices, and with her face fresh and glowing from exercise, Mary saw Allison giggling with her friend.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't the little strumpet," she said, on an irreverent sigh, propping her hip against the lockers, idly holding on to her backpack strap. Allison blushed, and her friend's lips twitched, eyes sparkling. Mary beckoned a curled finger at Allison. She'd been wondering how to broach the subject of Allison's impending womanhood, and figured cosmetics and tequila might help her get through it without shuddering. Too much. "Come along, we're going to have a little _chat_. About biology."

"I thought you're taking AP Physics," Allison said, with a bemused frown. Mary grabbed her by the scruff of the neck, and Allison laughed and waved over her shoulder to Lydia as Mary pushed her playfully toward the door. _Oh, dear_.

* * *

**A.N.**: I kind of wish either I'd had an older-sister, or a younger sister. I only have a brother who's completely opposite to me in personality, so we pretty much find each other intolerable. But I'd like Mary to be like…the epitome of the cool older-sister. Any help on how to achieve that through my writing would be helpful!

I _finally_ managed to download episode five from IsoHunt, which had been out for thirteen hours and _I—was—not—impressed_, so I've watched "Frayed"… If you've got an hour, I'll tell you my problems with it, and I'll also cast my vote to sacrifice _Jennifer_. I saw the promo for next week's episode, screamed "_NOOOOOOO_" at the screen and burst into tears.

In the words of Gollum, "_It's—OURS_."


	4. Sororal Bonding

**A.N.**: I'd been wondering about the feminine of 'fraternal' for ages. _Sororal_… So, this is an update for you all, to celebrate my results and my getting a job (gulp!).

* * *

**Jekyll and Hyde**

_04_

Sororal Bonding

* * *

Mary knew the Beacon Hills mall; there were actually two. One just fifteen minutes from the high-school (a prime location for kids who skipped math to go to the movies at the small theatre, play games and have pizza at the arcade) and another tucked downtown, a three-storey plaza in a huge redbrick sky-rise. It was _always_ busy, because there were restaurants, bars and nightclubs leasing the larger venues. Above the three-storey plaza was a parking-lot, with elevators both down to the shops and up, to what Mary guessed were offices and/or lofts. It was here Mary brought Allison.

"This car is seriously…hot," Allison said, eyeing the carefully-treated leather interior of Mary's car. It was a pristinely-restored iridescent-burgundy 1969 GTO. Mary's ex, the one she didn't like to think about, had shown her how to piece it together as a sort of therapy to help her recover from the accident that had killed her boyfriend, best-friend and another friend.

"Thanks," she sighed, turning the key in the ignition so the deep, sexy rumble of the engine quieted. He had helped her put together the car to give her new memories of cars; having sex on nearly every part of this car had certainly helped with her aversion to getting into it, but now, of course, she couldn't look over the bonnet without remembering…

_Dick_, she thought, his face flickering through her memory.

"So…what're we doing here?" Allison asked, a little warily. Mary yawned, shrugging.

"Haven't got you anything for your birthday yet," she said.

"Oh," Allison said, a tiny half-smile illuminating her pale face. Last year, Mary had given her a really killer vintage leather jacket from the boutique she used to work at part-time. She hadn't thought as far ahead as Allison's seventeenth birthday this year, what with moving, and her own moroseness. But if Dad wanted them to bond so Mary could dish some wise and cautionary advice on her little-sister, she guessed shopping would butter her up and break a little of the ice she'd felt from Allison the last few months. She knew she wasn't the easiest person in the world to approach when she got like this, but she'd never thought Allison would become unnerved by her presence, awkward about starting a conversation with her.

"You don't have to get me anything," Allison flushed, as they entered the plaza. Mary preferred it to the huge mall; there were better stores here, unique boutiques, very few food-chains, an independent bookstore/café, covert doors to a 'speakeasy'-style bar, her favourite club and it was the location of her workplace—_Sephora_. It was a smaller store than the one at the mall, but did better business and the atmosphere was great. Besides, at one a.m. when Mary had finished restocking the shelves, she could change outfits and saunter into one of the clubs to go on the prowl, and get herself a bottle of _Pepto Bismol_ from the little drugstore and breakfast at the café without having to even leave the building.

Now that was true convenience.

"I mean…I forgot to get you something for your birthday," Allison continued, as Mary kept the door propped open for her into the main gallery. She glanced at her sister. Allison was shorter than her by about six significant inches, even without heels, and with her pouting lower-lip and the fluttering single-falsies she liked to tuck at the outer corners of her eyes, she looked _very_ young.

"That's okay. Your _shame_ gives me prime guilt-tripping material for an entire _year_," Mary said honestly. Not that she would ever guilt-trip anyone over missing her birthday; she just didn't care that much about it. She'd heard that started to happen when you got older. But having had a blowout eighteenth amongst her pack, which had lasted an entire _weekend_ and of which Mary remembered…only the _best_ parts…well, this year, she had been in the same position as she had every other birthday in her life; alone. Nobody to celebrate it with. After the insane party the pack had thrown for her, well… She could say she resented them for it, for letting her know what she could have, and then taking it all away without mercy.

"Right," Allison smiled embarrassedly. "So, um…where do we start?"

"Well, I have to pick something up over there," Mary said, and Allison trailed after her, eyes wide, hands tucked in her blazer pockets, her cheeks flushing as Mary strode boldly into the lingerie boutique she had fell in lust with on first spotting it. 'Naughty', 'Sweet', 'Slutty' and 'Downright Scary' were the unofficial categories the lingerie was organised into; Mary knew the system because she worked one shift there every week, in between her twenty hours at _Sephora_ and her Track and Field practices after school. One shift a week wasn't much, but it gave one of the owners a shift off to spend time with her kid, and besides, Mary got a discount! She chatted with one of the salesgirls as she picked up her purchase, wrapped beautifully in a pristine box lined with perfumed tissue-paper and boutique bag with a silky ribbon, and wandered around the boutique while Allison blushed but admired some of the lingerie.

Mary eyed her sister, then the racks of beautiful lingerie, reaching for a cute but slightly precocious demi-cup bra in teal lace and silk with tiny turquoise bows, "Okay… Considering I could snap you in half like a Number Two pencil…here, that should fit you," she said, handing it to Allison, with the matching mini-cheekie panties Mary loved, not quite a thong but not cheekie-panties either.

"Um…" Allison blushed, eyeing the underwear.

"What?" Mary said, raising her eyebrows. "Throw Scott a bone!" Allison choked on a laugh, flushing, but Mary shrugged. Allison didn't buy the lingerie, but Mary loved the teal colour and the tiny turquoise bow, so she put it on her mental shopping-list to acquire at a later date, i.e. when she had saved enough from her pay-cheques at _Sephora_, where they headed next because Allison wanted a new lip-gloss.

"Okay, I know you loved _Huntsman_, but, seriously, Chris Hemsworth was the best-looking member of that cast, and…_chéri_, Kristen Stewart is _not_ a girl you want to aspire to be, so, please—just embrace colour and contouring already!" Mary said, wincing as the lighting inside _Sephora_ completely washed her sister's face out.

"What?" Allison laughed, dimpling prettily as her eyelashes fluttered.

"If I ever catch you pouting during photos like you're hardcore, and giving everyone attitude, well…I'll have to take your life. Shortly before my own," Mary said, honestly, and Allison chuckled as Mary handed her a compact of _Too Faced_ 'Tan Without the Twinkle' and a _Benefit Cosmetics_ 'Watts Up'.

"What're these for?"

"Contouring and highlighting…you need something for a bit of warmth, though," Mary said softly, eyeing the displays. She helped stock these shelves, so she knew where everything lived despite having only worked in this store for a month; she had put in for a transfer from her San Francisco boutique, and got twenty hours a week because she was still in high-school. With healthcare benefits, not that she needed them, as well as gratis products, training and a fab discount, Mary loved working there, even with the god-awful new 'designer' uniforms. She liked that she didn't have to hide her tattoo, was encouraged to wear bold looks, and could work nights to do restocking so she didn't have to go home.

"But, Mary, it's winter, nobody expects me to look tanned and…whatever," Allison said, giving her a look.

"Honey, it's California. People expect you not to look like you walked out of an embalmer's," Mary said, and Allison laughed, blushing a little. Mary found the _NARS_ section, honing in on the shimmering apricot 'South Beach' Multiple. "Here, Miss Pale-Face, this'll look great with your skin-tone."

"It's apricot," Allison crinkled her nose.

"I've worked in _Sephora_ for a year; I think I've learned what'll suit different people's skin-tones!" Mary said, raising her eyebrows. "Including yours, now take that stuff to the cashier."

"Why…can't you buy it for me?" Allison smiled coyly. "I mean, don't you get a discount."

"Well, yes, but if I buy for someone else I lose my job," Mary said, shrugging idly. "And a. I like the gratis and 2. _You_ still get an allowance so you can pony up the cash to pay full-price."

"You get an allowance too," Allison smiled. Mary's eyebrows flew up.

"I haven't had an allowance since I was fifteen!" she corrected.

When Mary had walked away from Hunting as her future career, Victoria had put her foot down and declared that if Mary wanted to forge her own path, she could do so by her own steam…with her own finances. In an effort to control Mary's choice, Victoria had assumed that the fear of having to work for what she wanted would intimidate Mary into obedience; it had only spurred Mary to take on two part-time jobs since she was fifteen. So she didn't have to ask her parents for money to buy anything she wanted; that way, it couldn't be taken away from her out of spite. Every pay-cheque she earned was split, two-thirds put into savings and one-third for her to spend. _Every_ pay-cheque, and with two part-time jobs for the last four years, full-time during the summer, extra hours at Christmastime, Mary had put away quite an amazing sum of money already.

In a world of dreams, she would have been able to go to the San Francisco Academy of Art for college. Funding her college education herself meant her choices were severely limited, but she was determined to do it; she figured, if she worked full-time, she could stretch out her college education in night-classes at a local school, instead of trying to juggle a full academic calendar around shifts at work to fund her lifestyle. Admittedly her lifestyle wasn't excessive, but being able to provide for herself was the only reason she hadn't yet moved out. She was still saving, so that if she fell on hard times once she _did_ move out, all was not lost.

She couldn't stand the thought of being beholden to her parents years down the line, coming back to them tail between her legs looking for help. She knew exactly what her mother would say. And because she was a shit-scary she-dragon, Mary's dad would back her up. He always did.

And whatever her relationship had once been with her dad, Mary couldn't get over him cowing to Victoria, rather than stepping in, moderating her crazy.

With the consulting business, their family was very well-off, her dad didn't have to work anymore; he had always said he wanted to retire when Mary was twenty-five, so when she started popping out babies he'd be the kind of grandpa he'd always wanted to be, doting, affectionate, fun. Not the father he'd had, or the father he had now _become_ through his wife's interference and cruelty. He spoiled Allison to compensate for the moves and their mother's vicious personality, but Mary…she no longer indulged in the benefits of having a successful father. He didn't give Mary allowance, but Allison hadn't fucked up in his eyes and he continued to pay her off for being an uncomplaining goody-goody.

Allison rolled her eyes, amused, and eyed the makeup Mary had passed to her. "Okay, so if I buy this, how do I actually use it?"

"Oh my—haven't you learned how to use this stuff yet? There's only about a billion videos on _YouTube_ of amateur makeup-artists using those products," Mary tutted, shaking her head. "Go buy it, later I'll show you how to use it so you look like you, but, y'know…_better_."

"Nice," Allison laughed softly, but she looked over the three products before glancing up at Mary. "Aren't you getting anything?"

"Well, I was thinking about acquiring a new lip-gloss. I mean, I only have two whole buckets of lip-products," she said playfully, not quite exaggerating the truth; Mary loved lip-products. She and Allison moseyed around the store, sampling the different glosses that caught their eye. While Allison stocked up on a _MAC_ 'Bare Necessity' Dazzleglass, her favourite staple, Mary examined the _UrbanDecay_ Lip Junkie glosses she had spied during her last shift, and as she sampled one, Allison wandered over, gaze mildly curious.

"Hey, that's a really pretty colour on you," she said softly. "What's it called?" Mary glanced at the tube of shimmering purplish-fuchsia gloss.

"'_Jilted_'," she read off the tube, then rolled her eyes and gave a hollow laugh at the irony. That about summed it up. _Jilted_. No longer useful, loved or important. Swept aside. _Fucked_ _over_.

A very apt way to sum up Mary's current situation.

"Can I ask you a question?"

"You can," Mary said, eyeing her sister. "I reserve the right not to answer if I don't like it."

Allison laughed softly, her cheeks dimpling. "Did you have a boyfriend in San Francisco?" Mary glanced at Allison again, as they approached the cashier's counter. She sighed.

"Yeah. I did," she admitted grudgingly. Today was obviously not her day. But their dad had asked her to give Allison some of her hard-earned sage wisdom, and, well, rejection and depression were all just part and parcel of dating. Being in love.

Screw it. She needed a drink.

* * *

"Take your leggings off."

"_What_?!" Allison laughed. They stood in the multi-storey car-park, the trunk of Mary's car open. Stashed inside it were empty bags from boutiques, a few novels, CD cases and unopened bottles of _SoBe_, cans of _Arizona Iced-Tea_, packets of printed photographs, random tubes of acrylic paint, _Clif_ bars, a couple apples, a few condoms and several crumpled _In N' Out Burger_ bags. Mary used to work there, and there was nowhere else she would suffer to buy burgers from now. That wasn't all that her trunk contained: a wicker-basket was full of crocheted granny-square blankets, a rolled-up sleeping-bag, even a pillow; a small, battered icebox was pushed to the back of the trunk, full of bottles of water, beer, one of rum, and pots, tubes and palettes of makeup she used after shifts at work to get ready to go out; there was a glossy _Cath Kidston_ tote spilling out an _Original Source_ pineapple shower-gel, _Dove_ conditioner, a beach-towel, two bikini tops and three mismatched bottoms; a flat black artist's portfolio, a few composition-notebooks, and tubes of hair-product were scattered on the mat, still sandy from frequent beach-excursions last summer. A handful of clean panties were tucked into a plastic tub with a few pairs of Mary's favoured high-heels and a load of clean clothes. She had a tendency to get changed out in the parking-lot after work, do her makeup, then head to the bars and clubs, then return, switch outfits, clean her face, redo her makeup and brush her teeth in the restroom of the café she breakfasted in, and head out to school.

She had eyed Allison's outfit, the crinkled curls, her leather jacket, and as she searched through the contents of her trunk, Allison laughed at her in surprised incredulity.

"Take your leggings off—and put these on," Mary said, handing her sister a pair of killer strappy black heels.

"What? Mary—I won't even be able to walk in these," Allison said. "Why do I need to even put these on?"

"Because in those leggings you look sixteen—take them off, put on a pair of heels, I'll do your makeup and you can pass for twenty-two," Mary said, tugging her own wine-red Converses off, perched on the edge of her trunk, and shimmied out of her jeans in favour of a pair of little leather shorts and a pair of cut-out black velvet t-bar heels, added a delicate gold necklace, sprayed product in her hair, and smudged her _MAC_ 'Rich Glance' gold eye-pencil for a smoky look, and eyed Allison.

"Why do I need to look twenty-two?"

"Because I'm taking you for a drink," Mary said, eyeing Allison as she negligently reapplied her _Lipstick Queen_ Sinner 'Natural' lipstick in one practiced sweep.

"_What_?" Allison laughed. "Why?"

"Because—" Mary blinked at her. Usually a teenager was raring to sneak into a club for a drink; Allison was questioning why Mary would want to drag her into a bar? "Because _I_ want a drink! I've had a bad day."

"So…you've started drinking when you've had a rough time?" Allison said quietly. _Wow. Loaded question, sis, very subtle_, Mary thought.

"I've started drinking because hot guys usually go to bars, and they're easier to pick up after a few beers," Mary said honestly. "If I don't go out for a few beers and _boy_, I'll end up going to _In N' Out_ and eating five Double-Double Animal-Style burgers, three trays of fries and two milkshakes, and the shame of _that_ will stay with me a lot longer than sex with a random stranger." Allison laughed, eyes flying wide as she blushed. "Besides, you're nearly seventeen; it's about time I taught you how to do tequila shots."

She did Allison's makeup, giving her smoky eyes from her NAKED2 palette, and frowned. "What is up with your hair these days, anyway?"

"You don't like it?"

"It's just…" She grimaced, eyeing the confused curls tumbling either side of Allison's pale face. "You need more _warmth_, honey. Something to balance out your pale skin, not turn you into a female Damon Salvatore."

"You _love_ Damon Salvatore," Allison smiled.

"Well, yeah, he's a strikingly handsome man," Mary said, pinning Allison's hair away from her face. "But deathly-pale isn't a healthy beauty-look. You need to keep your hair out of your face." Allison rolled her eyes. Getting her ready to go out, Mary led the way to one of her favourite dive bars, a place with walls papered with concert fliers, old punk posters, a gummy texture to the floor, tall round tables, a stage for nightly acts, a pool-table and random detritus of good nights out. It was already picking up a bit, and the bouncer Mary was on friendly terms with let her and Allison in; Mary got them a pitcher of beer, a couple of tequila shots each, and ordered a big gooey pizza—half meat-feast with olives, half green-peppers for Allison—to make sure she didn't have to carry Allison out of the bar in an hour's time.

"They serve you here, without asking for I.D.?" Allison said, looking incredulously at Mary as she poured them both a glass of beer. Mary shrugged.

"I slept with the bartender a few weeks ago," she said honestly.

"What, here?" Allison said, eyes widening, and she lifted her arm off the bar. "Like _on_ the bar?"

Mary chuckled richly. "The bar, the back-room…it was a long night. Anyways, now I do inventory for him some nights."

Allison frowned, sipping her beer. "Is that where you always are, when you're not home at night? You're working?"

"I've got a lot of odd jobs," Mary sighed, licking salt off her hand and downing her tequila shot without thought, sucking on a lime-wedge and tossing the rind onto a napkin. She did have a lot of odd jobs around Beacon Hills; she was a girl who knew how to put herself out there, and had been taught where to look for people who didn't care about age-restrictions and legal issues. So she could work a couple shifts a month as a bouncer to a strip-club because she was so strong, and made the girls feel safe; helped put together underground raves, taking home a few hundred a night; she could do inventory at bars; she got paid to model nude at the local college during portraiture lessons.

Officially, she worked at _Sephora_ twenty hours a week, one shift at the lingerie boutique, and saved two-thirds of her income. Unofficially, she deposited all of the cash she made under-the-table from lucrative odd jobs here and there into her savings account in small chunks.

She took a sip of beer, then licked more salt off her hand, knocked back her second tequila shot and sucked on another lime-wedge. Sighing, she eyed Allison, who had been watching her curiously, dark eyes skittering apprehensively to her own two little shots of tequila. "Come on. Peer pressure. Just do the one if you want. Lick your hand…" She taught Allison how to do a tequila-shot properly, and took her second, when the pizza arrived.

Pouring a glass of beer for Allison, Mary topped up her own and took a sip. "So, how's your Scott situation going?"

"My Scott situation?" Allison smiled, dimpling, and Mary shrugged.

"C'mon, if _Dad_ came to me to ask me to talk to you, you know it's pretty serious," Mary said, and Allison's eyebrows rose.

"_Dad_ asked you to talk to me?" Allison flushed, her eyes widening.

"It's better than him getting one of his Glocks out at the dinner-table," Mary said, shrugging slightly, and Allison chuckled softly, nodding her agreement. Mary took a sip of beer and sighed, eyeing her little sister. They had never been the closest, strange for two girls who'd never had anybody else growing up, but Mary hadn't realised until now that Allison was almost the same age she had been when she'd started dating Tommy. Glancing at Allison, she asked quietly, "Would you have used the condom?"

"I just…thought that it'd…be good to take precautions," Allison said shyly, flushing.

"You've only just met this boy," Mary observed. They had lived in Beacon Hills a month; Allison was already contemplating _taking precautions_ with a boy she liked.

"You're going to lecture me on having sex with a boy I just met?" Allison laughed, her cheeks dimpling, and Mary rolled her eyes. She wasn't lecturing, she just…wanted to know. "Mary, _Stiles_ has heard the rumours about you."

"What the hell is a Stiles?" Mary asked, and Allison laughed.

"Stiles is Scott's best-friend. He has ADHD. Trust me, if you meet him, you'll know you've met Stiles," Allison chuckled softly. Mary raised an eyebrow.

"Sure… Anyway, _I_ am jaded when it comes to boys and sex. Have Mom threaten your life if you ever dare have sex, then get the beating she promised you when she found your birth-control patches…" Mary trailed off, taking a swig of beer.

Allison was quiet for a minute. "She did that?"

"She had one of her episodes," Mary said casually, trying to wave it aside. "So just think about that—I broke them." She glanced at Allison with a playful smirk. "You've got it so easy as the baby. The favourite."

"I'm not the favourite."

"Yes, you are," Mary corrected, a little sternly. She softened, as she said, "And that's okay. But at least you have the benefit of my experience, so you don't have to go to _Mom_ about this."

Allison gazed into nothingness, then nodded thoughtfully. "I guess…"

"Because it's awkward and scary enough already. And that's just picking out outfits for dates…" Allison laughed. They finished their pizza, topping off their beers, and Mary led her sister over to an empty pool-table. They started shooting pool—Mary started teaching Allison how to shoot pool; her ex had enjoyed teaching her—and talking, not about anything really important, just…hanging out. They talked about Scott, what it was about him Allison liked, and they talked about school, the dour Mr Harris, the odd gym-teacher Coach Finstock (Mary rather enjoyed his eccentricity), Allison's new friends, and just…spent time not being awkward in each other's presence.

"Alright, listen up," Mary said, pausing to drain the last of her beer for a little extra courage. She sighed, setting the empty glass down, and picked up her cue, eyeing Allison across the felted table. "You're nearly seventeen years old; you've got your first boyfriend… Our father thinks it's time I gave you some _wise_, and _sisterly_, advice about boys and sex and dating… So here goes." She took a deep breath, frowning, and said what she'd suffered the last four years of dating to learn; "If you're wondering if a boy is thinking about you, he's not. He's thinking about sex, or he's hungry. In my experience those are the only two options."

Allison burst out laughing. She got giggly when she was tipsy; a tray of chilli-cheese fries rested on a nearby table for them to pick at, so Allison didn't tip everybody off that she was a lightweight. "Are you trying to be funny?"

"I'm not finished," Mary said, though she was smiling. She sighed. "Boys think about sex every minute of the day. That's what they do—that is why they lie. They're gonna leave you waiting around for them to call and they won't call. They're gonna be cruel and they're gonna be misleading. By and large, popular high-school athletes are the worst culprits for this behaviour, however, having sampled my way through various cliques at numerous high-schools, I can say with certainty it's pretty much a universal malady suffered by teenage boys."

"You're not really inspiring me with much confidence, Mary," Allison said, her eyes bright as her lashes fluttered, the dimples winking in her cheeks. Mary shrugged.

"Okay, well, maybe this will: They grow out of it," she said. She had learned that, too. "But before that maturity sets in, sometimes, if you want one, you're going to have to take initiative." She fixed Allison with a stern eye. "And don't ever let anybody tell you that you _can't_ take initiative and _chase_ boys, and make the first move, or always be on top, or take what you want without giving anything back, because that's backward, and the girls who tell you that are the ones who spend their nights at home." Allison smiled. "But you've got pretty good instincts, and that you're interested in Scott says a lot about him already."

"He's just…different from a lot of the boys I've known," Allison blushed. Mary watched her sister. The first blush of love… Mary could remember feeling gushy and warm, a bundle of nerves and excitable energy, unable to breathe when she was away from Tommy, hating being away from him, thinking about him all the time… Now the thought of feeling that way again made her physically ill, nauseated, terrified and aware of just how hollow she felt inside…

"So how was it?" she asked, putting on a jaunty smirk to conceal her emotional deprivation.

"How was what?" Allison blushed.

"You had him over to study and stole a condom, and you didn't even give him a sneak-preview?" Mary said, raising an eyebrow.

"Well, we did…make out, just a little bit," Allison blushed, her dimples winking.

"Uh-huh," Mary said, eyeing her sister thoughtfully. She flicked her eyebrows up in a thoughtful expression and nodded. "I know you're a confident enough girl not to get pushed into doing something you're not comfortable with."

"Yeah, I…I know…"

"It's awkward, learning all this new stuff…about your body, and about his, it's going to be unnerving no matter what you do," Mary said quietly. They had been smiling, teasing before; she had given Allison the benefit of her experience about dating teenage boys who only had one thing on their filthy little minds, but she had learned that it wasn't the _dating_ part that was tough, broke hearts… "Letting somebody touch you, giving them that trust. Sex is awkward, it's personal and terrifying and…" she paused, trying to find the right word to describe how she had felt with Tommy, and with…he-who-shall-not-be-named… "_Ecstatic_." She swallowed, sighing softly, and glanced up at Allison, trying to tell her without words that…sex could be fierce and…and magical, it could be intimidating and exciting… "But, you know, in some ways…sex is the easy part. It's all the other stuff…emotional closeness, letting somebody in, allowing yourself to be vulnerable, and…to _need_ someone."

Maybe _he_ had spotted the huge, gaping hole of emotional vulnerability Mary had been suffering since the accident, and swooped in, taking advantage, but he had both picked up the pieces of her broken soul, melding them together again, only to shatter them again—the original wounds had shattered, along with new ones, because after what she had gone through with the pack, helping to put her together after the worst tragedy of her life, everything they had done for her, helped her rebuild, had been ripped away. And _he_ hadn't done a damn thing.

"Letting yourself be vulnerable, to need somebody else… That's…a pretty incredible power to have over somebody," she said quietly, her throat burning. She winced, feeling a painful incision in the vicinity of her heart. "And…being _safe_ isn't just about condoms…it's about knowing when it's okay to let your guard down and let somebody in. It's about not changing who you are to please somebody who might take advantage of it."

For a minute, Allison was quiet, just gazing back at Mary as she stared into the distance, dwelling on Tommy, and _him_, the pack, her terror at emotional intimacy with anyone now, in case she was brutalised the same way yet again. Hooking up with strangers to get off was just so much easier.

Then Allison said, "Are you done?" and the mood lifted. Mary gave her a sad smile, gazing at her from the corner of her eye. She set her cue down in the rack, and pulled on her jacket with a lethargy that was more emotional than physical, though three-quarters of a pitcher of beer hadn't helped either. Sighing, she glanced at Allison, looking her right in the eye.

"You are sweet, you are innocent, and I never want to see any guy take advantage of that power over you…" she said honestly. As Allison's features opened up in an expressive look that said more about how much she appreciated Mary's words than anything, Mary added, "How'd I do?"

Allison laughed. "Scrapbook that to tell to your own daughters when they're sixteen." Mary smiled tensely… Daughters. _Yeah_. And how did she explain to her future baby-daddy that she was a werewolf who could rend him into teeny tiny pieces if he pissed her off?

"I love you, too," she said, rolling her eyes, but she was smiling. She glanced back at the pool-table. "You make a lousy pool-player though."

It hadn't been too painful; the beer had helped, and driving them back to the house, Mary yawned as Allison lectured her on drink-driving.

"If I'd downed three bottles of vodka and chased them with a keg, I'd _still_ have better reflexes than most people," she said honestly, yawning again. She'd had a few very long days strung together, and today had been fun, in a nice, relaxing, no-boys-allowed way, so the beer that would usually have taken a lot more of to get her tipsy was having an effect as she pulled into the driveway. She had to _assist_ Allison inside, not quite the seasoned heavyweight her older-sister was, and got her into her pyjamas, wiped her makeup off, put her hair in a braid, made her drink a big glass of water and refilled it, and left a little bottle of _Pepto Bismol_ and two _Advil_ on her bedside-cabinet, and tucked her into bed.

Allison gave her a sleepy, slightly-buzzed smile, eyes opening and closing like a tired little panda-bear, and sighed, "Thanks…for tonight."

Mary swallowed, tucking the duvet over her sister's frail little chicken-arms. "Yeah," she said softly. Last year she had made the conscious effort to sort of embrace the fact she had a little-sister who was now the age where she could start to be interesting and fun. She had snuck Allison into clubs, introduced her to boys, took her shopping, went to art-galleries, lunched out at cafés, toured the delights of San Francisco, went on day-trips…they had spent time together as if they were _friends_ not strangers who just happened to be sisters.

In the last couple of months, she hadn't wanted anyone near her.

So while Allison had made friends with Lydia Martin and her egocentric boyfriend, had started dating Scott McCall and for once going against their parents' wishes and ignoring the police-enforced curfew, Mary was isolated emotionally and, usually, physically from everyone around her. She didn't know the names of the kids in her class, didn't particularly care because one way or another they would just be _gone_ soon enough. It was early-March; she graduated in June. And, yes, while she had slept with a few boys in the senior class, sneaking down to the boiler-room to have fun with one of them practically every other day, that didn't mean she _knew_ them, or wanted to get to know them. She was sure they were nice guys, but she just didn't care to know them; knowing them meant liking them, and liking them meant her soul would inevitably be crushed when she could no longer spend time with them, for whatever reason.

She turned off Allison's bedside-lamp and crept out of her bedroom, dodging cardboard-boxes and crates full of Allison's things. She wouldn't wish her current lifestyle on anyone, especially not her little-sister.

She still had a shot of growing up somewhat normal.

Making her way to her bedroom, a room as separate from the rest of the house as she could get, Mary stilled, tensing, quietly scenting the air. Her eyes narrowing, she edged toward the bedroom she had claimed. She could smell _her_. So quiet was her approach, Kate didn't sense her in the doorway; Mary watched her skim through novels, look inside Mary's box covered with a sugar-skull in puff-paint and flower decoupage, search the top drawer of her dresser, the little drawers of her dressing-table.

She always was a weasel. Mary didn't like her aunt whatsoever; but unlike her own mother, Mary wasn't afraid of Kate. She was too disdainful of her, an insincere, manipulative bitch who would die alone because she was too hard for anybody to love. She had the subtlety of dynamite.

"Looking for anything in particular?" Mary asked lightly, and Kate jumped a foot, Mary heard her heartbeat race, and felt a surge of satisfaction. As her aunt whirled around, Mary leaned in the doorway with her arms folded, expression blasé, eyes lingering on her aunt accusingly.

"Uh…No," Kate said, giving a practiced smile that spoke of blamelessness and dripped with insincerity. "Just…waiting for you, I wanted to have a chat—"

"With my jewellery-box?" Mary asked coolly. "Don't insult me; you were snooping."

"I was just interested in your life, sweetie," Kate said. Mary narrowed her eyes, her face falling into a grim expression.

"Don't call me 'sweetie'," she said softly. Kate used to call her that during Mary's training; it oozed of condescension. She frowned. "Why are you here?"

"Not thrilled your aunt came for a visit?"

"Argents don't _do_ casual family visits," Mary said coolly. She knew her father hadn't called; he had _announced_ that Kate was coming for a visit. Unofficially she was here as backup to help capture the Alpha terrorising Scott McCall, responsible for the murder of Laura Hale; officially this was just a casual drop-in from their twenty-something rootless aunt. She had the free-spirit act down but that was all it was; an act. She was a hard bitch who took sadistic pleasure in the torture of werewolves, didn't care about collateral damage and couldn't maintain a lasting relationship with anyone. "I thought you hated small towns. There's nothing for you to do. Especially Beacon Hills; I didn't think you ever revisited old haunts."

Kate shrugged. "You guys are here, thought it was time I dropped in to check on you."

"We lived in San Francisco for sixteen months, you never once came to visit," Mary said quietly. And she knew there was a network of werewolves in that city that outnumbered the total number of packs in some _states_. Why _hadn't_ Kate come to San Francisco? When another dismembered, mutilated body was just one among a number that turned up daily; a perfect playing-ground for her. "What's special about Beacon Hills?" She glanced at Kate. Then asked lightly, "Have unfinished business here, or something?"

Kate didn't realise she needed to guard her responses or heartbeat around her family; but Mary didn't trust her and never would.

And her heartbeat jumped.

She wasn't here for a casual family visit. She was here to help Mary's dad catch the Alpha who killed Laura Hale, attacked the bus-driver and bit Scott McCall.

When an Argent turned rabid, they were put down, like the 'dogs' they hunted.

And if it turned out Derek Hale's suspicions were correct about Kate's involvement murdering eleven innocent people, there would be consequences for Kate, no matter if she was family.

If Mary's dad found out about the Hale fire, that Kate had been _involved_, when she was here six years ago…

She was here covering her own ass.

* * *

**A.N.**: Please review. I have three weeks' full-time training before I start work, so I won't have as much time to write, but I'll probably be daydreaming about _Teen Wolf_ while I'm learning all this new stuff!


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